Ever After
by omgitsdanniie
Summary: Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, But falling in love with you..I had no control over. AU. Samcedes.
1. Discoveries

_Chapter 1: Discoveries._

_xox_

Her head ached. The music was too loud. Her beer was getting warm.

And worst of all, her heart was broken.

He'd promised to marry her. He'd promised that she was the only girl he'd ever want. He promised to be faithful.

And, being the sap she was, she believed him and paid the consequences when she walked in on him and a coworker getting it on in his apartment..Their apartment.

She'd been a fool.

Puck pleaded that he'd been afraid—that he'd been scared to commit, scared to fully open himself up. To bear himself fully to one woman was like stripping away his armor, he said. He couldn't make himself that vulnerable.

Mercedes knew about his wretched childhood, about his alcoholic father and absent mother and she'd become fascinated with the successful, charming, kind man he'd become. So he was a bit of a playboy… she'd foolishly thought she could get him. That he would open up to her and she would shoulder his burden, just like in the fairy tales.

She really hadn't considered herself that idealistic. "O how the mighty have fallen," she muttered to herself, taking another sip of beer, welcoming the haziness each sip produced.

Mercedes traced circles on the dirty wooden table with her fingernail. Manicured. Puck had always admired her hands. She'd be sure to bite them once the lacquer had worn off enough. Maybe she'd paint them black. That would be satisfying.

What the hell am I doing bitterly bemoaning my life like some pathetic scorned woman? Next I'll be making a voodoo doll and throwing it through his window at the dead of night. Never mind the fact that she _was_ a woman scorned and that the idea of sticking pins through his heart—albeit a cloth one—evoked a feeling of immense pleasure.

"God, I'm pitiful." She took a large gulp of beer to commemorate the revelation. Congratulations, Mercedes. Welcome to Reality—we're glad to have you.

"Since when do you drink beer?"

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from her burning eyes. It was amazing how much a simple beer could affect a non-alcohol drinker. "Since my fiancé turned out to be a lying bastard with no backbone," she said, trying to figure out where she knew this man from.

"Good reason." He pulled out the chair next to her and folded his tall frame into it. "Mind if I join you?"

"Only if you're planning on contributing to the pity party."

"Oh, naturally," he said, his tone rather ironic, snatching her beer and taking a large swig.

"Hey, get your own booze!"

"Share and share alike, Mercedes-. Can't two kindred souls wallow in pity together?"

"Sam." The name came to her now. He was Quinn's boyfriend… or supposedly. The petite young women worked in the office next to her, and Mercedes had heard a few stories about Quinn's impulsive yet romantic boyfriend. "What are you moping around for? Did Quinn dump you?"

"On the contrary…"

Mercedes snatched her beer back. "You dumped her? Then what the hell are you doing here? She should be drinking herself into oblivion, not you!"

"I'm drinking because I despise myself for being an insensitive, ambiguous bastard."

Mercedes blinked. "Well, at least you're honest."

"That's about the only thing I have going for me right now," he said easily, stretching his legs underneath the table. "I was confused. I thought I loved Quinn… but every time I'd see Santana again all these old feelings would come back up… and then I really didn't know what I wanted."

Mercedes got the feeling he wasn't really talking to her anymore. But she let him ramble—at least he had the advantage of looking like a normal person spilling his woes to a friend. Just a few minutes ago she'd received "god-not-another-crazy-one" looks for talking to herself.

"Why do you women have to be so damn confusing?" he asked, directing the question towards her.

"I don't know. Why do you men have to be so damn contradictory?"

He shrugged and leaned over to the next table. "Hey, buddy, you done with that?"

The man wrapped his hand around the bottle protectively and literally snarled.

Sam held his hands up. "Fine, fine." Then to Mercedes, "You feel like getting up and—"

"Go order your own drink, you lazy bum."

He sighed and shoved away from the table, returning with a cold beer a few minutes later. He sat back down and held up his drink. "Here's to 'love' gone wrong."

"I'll drink to that."

And they drowned their misery in the comfort of the burning liquid.

* * *

Two hours and two beers later, Mercedes was dead drunk and Sam hadn't even lost an eighth of his sobriety. He'd been drinking alcohol since he was eight, he explained to her, and his system didn't react to the stuff unless he completely binged on it.

"'S nice…" Mercedes said vaguely, resting her head in her hand.

He was mildly disappointed that she wasn't one of those funny drunks; she just looked subdued. And tired. That was no fun.

"—we go wrong?" she was saying.

"Huh?" He shook his head. "Sorry, you were saying…?"

"I said, where did we go wrong? Is it impossible for us to find love? Other people our age are happily married… some with kids already. Why is it that we haven't found 'that special person' yet?"

Sam moved his beer glass in a slow circle, watching the amber liquid swirl around hypnotically. "I'm not going to give you 'it's not your time yet' bullshit. I think we missed our chance."

"Chance? To what, turn Puck down in the first place? Tell him to get lost?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. Maybe on your first date with Puck you were going to go to the library instead. Say you turned him down, went to the library—and met the love of your life." At her skeptical look, he said defensively, "It's entirely possible."

"Does fate really work that way?"

"Why not?"

"What about you, then? What chance did you miss?"

He was quiet for a minute. "The chance to make the right decision. It was a fifty-fifty shot and I chose the wrong answer."

"Hate those kinds of tests." She nodded wisely.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, me too."

Mercedes pushed away from the table and tried to stand. "I think I'll go home now—I'm tired. I want sleep… I need sleep." And she needed to forget about a Certain Bastard. "And I need… booze…" She awkwardly grabbed the bottle and tried to shove it in the pocket of her tight jeans. "It won't fit," she said, frowning.

Sam reached across the small table and caught her wrist in his hand. "Your pocket's too small."

"It is?" She cocked her head. "Oh… I guess you're right." She sighed despondently and sat back down. "I can't go home now."

"Why not?" asked Sam, fairly amused.

"Because the bottle won't fit in my pocket unless I break it. And a broken bottle's no good… don't you think it's better to just let things be than break them?" Her eyes glazed over and she stared at the mirror behind the bar counter.

Sam looked at her sharply, not removing his hand from her wrist. She was alarmingly lucid for a drunk girl and her words were oddly… relevant to the situation at hand. "Are we still talking about the bottle, Mercedes?"

"Of course we are." Her gaze didn't wander. "A broken bottle does us no good… a broken love does us no good… was it really so terrible, pretending that things were fine? Would I have been happier only suspecting Puck had been cheating on me rather than—knowing he was cheating on me?" She turned her gaze on him now, her deep brown eyes probing his green ones. "Would it have been so bad, marrying Quinn and trying to forget about Santana?"

"I will never forget about Santana," he said sharply.

"Then why didn't you marry her, huh? What'd you get involved with Quinn for?" She scooted closer to him so that their knees were touching underneath the table and he could clearly see the rise and fall of her chest.

Sam swallowed and forced his eyes upward. "I guess… you could've called it a rebound. I was still hurt over Santana and Quinn was—there. Available. She really is a sweet girl. She'll make someone very happy."

"But not you?" Mercedes was getting very close now.

"No, not me." He placed his hands on her shoulders, not as a way to get her closer, but a way to keep her back. "I don't deserve her."

"Why not?"

"Because she's sweet and kind and innocent and giving—"

"And you're not?"

"I'm selfish and crabby and rude."

"Not from what she says. She thinks you're the angel Gabriel. Or Michael. Or whatever the hell his name is."

That brought a hint of a smile to his face. "Quinn sees the best in everyone."

"So? It's better than seeing the worst in everyone."

"It's like saying that a slice of bread is only half moldy and still good to eat."

Mercedes thought about this for a second and then shrugged. "It won't kill you right away, at least."

"But it could possibly make you sick," he whispered.

Mercedes looked up sharply and reached a hand to his face. "You're crying…"

Sam jerked away from her. "The hell, woman? I'm not!"

"Yes you are."

"Look!" He pointed to his eyes. "Dry! No water whatsoever!"

She touched his face again, tracing a line down from the bottom of his eye, down his chin and neck all the way to his heart, where she let her hand rest. "You're not crying from your eyes…" She sniffled. "You're smart. You don't let people know when you're sad. They'll never know the difference."

Damn it, now she was crying. "You look like a woman who would wear her emotions on her sleeve."

"Huh? Oh…" She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "I guess you're right." She inspected her sleeve critically. "Yep, my emotions are on my sleeve all right."

He sighed. "How are you getting home tonight, Mercedes?"

"Walking…"

"Alone in the dark? Oh dear me, that'll never do," he said monotonously, as if reciting lines from a script. "Guess I'd better take you home."

"No… that's okay… I'll just sleep here tonight."

"I don't think the bartender would like that very much."

"Oh, he won't mind. He's my husband."

Sam jerked. "What?"

She giggled at the look on his face. "We 'married' each other in third grade. He always looks out for me, even though he has a real wife now… Hmm…" She hummed contentedly and tucked the bottle of beer under her arm. "I guess I'll go to bed now."

Sam stood. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yup. I'll be fine." She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Thanks for listening."

"Anytime…" He tried to push down the urge to show her what a real kiss felt like. Didn't Puck ever kiss her properly?

She tilted her head at him, an adorable look on her face. "Same time tomorrow? I'm sure I'll need someone else to talk to… after I have to see Puck at work tomorrow…"

"Yeah. Good point." He'd have to face both Santana and Quinn come morning. He groaned. Maybe he'd call in sick tomorrow.

"Right then. Bye, Sam," she chirped, spinning on her heel. "Whoops—" She stumbled a bit, but caught her balance with the help of Sam's lightning-quick reflexes. "I'm okay."

"Good," he said seriously. He released her and watched her wander into the back hallway of the bar and open a door that said "PRIVATE." He assumed it was a spare bedroom or something. "Right," he said to himself, sitting back down at the table and finishing off the rest of his beer.

He wouldn't come tomorrow. He didn't want to disappoint her, but the last thing he needed in his life was another female complicating issues further.

* * *

Mercedes looked up from her pad of lined yellow paper to see the familiar face from last night looking down at her inquisitively. "Hey…" she greeted him absently, going back to her writing. "I'm surprised you came."

"That makes two of us." Sam folded himself into the chair, just as he'd done the night before. She had this weird feeling of déjà vu—except they were both wearing different clothes, and this time she had no drink in front of her.

"What's the point of coming to a bar if you're not going to drink anything?" he asked, obviously having noted the lack of a beverage in front of her.

She shrugged and flipped the pen through her fingers. "I didn't like the hangover I had this morning. And my dad died of liver cancer. It was a one-night escape, not an experience I'd like to repeat."

"Smart girl," he said, smirking at her. "But I, on the other hand, need a little alcohol in my system." He raised the glass he'd brought to the table.

"That isn't beer," she remarked, her eyes narrowing.

"White wine," he confirmed, taking a sip of the clear liquid. "Did I ever tell you I was lived in France for about six years of my childhood?"

"You didn't."

"Well, I did. And they instilled in me an appreciation for good food and good wine. I've never been able to forget it." He ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

"Interesting." She tapped the end of her pen against her chin. "So I assume you speak French?"

"Not a bit of it," he said cheerfully. "Can understand every word, but aside from a few choice curse words, can't speak it for beans."

"Ah…oh. That's interesting." Her eyes strayed back to her notepad.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked, leaning over the table to get a better look at what she'd written.

She automatically slapped a hand over the text. "Nothing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Private, huh? Why did you bring it to a bar?"

"No one pays a bit of attention to anyone else when they're wallowing in self-pity," she retorted, "and I didn't expect to see you here again."

"Why not? You asked me to come back."

This gave her pause. "What?"

"Last night…you…told me… to come back here…the same time…tonight."

"I was drunk, for God's sake," she cried, "do you really think I knew what I was saying?"

"You were remarkably aware for being so intoxicated. You'd make a good secret agent—able to absorb information while drugged."

She stared at him. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

He shrugged. "Take it in whatever way you want."

"Mmm." She returned to her writing.

Sam sat patiently for a few minutes or so, but that was about the end of his attention span. "Are you just going to sit there and ignore me?"

"It's not like I invited you over here or anything," she shot back.

"Meh, it's called having good manners."

"In a bar?"

He scowled. She had him there. "So how was your day, Mercedes-?"

"Shitty. How was yours, Sam-?"

"Fucked up. Care to elaborate?"

"Not really. You?"

"Nah."

There was a moment of silence, and then Mercedes said, "Fine. I walked into work as usual today, and who should I run into when I open the door to the copy room but Puck. Mind you, it was 7:55AM and Puck never gets to work until at least after 8:05AM. So I was forced to actually speak…civilly… to him. And then he stayed back in his office to eat lunch. He always goes out. And then he came into my office to ask me for a stapler. Doesn't he understand that I don't want to talk to him?"

"Heaven forbid—not a stapler!"

Mercedes fumed. "If you're going to make fun of me I'll just return to my sex scene—" She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Shit."

A grin spread over Sam's face. "Writing smutty romance, are we?"

"No."

"Mmhm, very interesting."

"Shut up, I bet you've read every single book."

This surprised him. "Book? You're published?"

She might as well give up the act. "Yes, quite successfully so. Though I doubt you'll be able to guess my pen name and even if you are able, I won't tell you."

He laughed outright at this. "I would never have guessed. Quinn's conservative, perfectionist best friend is a smut writer?" He burst into a fresh round of laughter.

"It's not that funny," Mercedes muttered.

He grinned at her, his dimples flashing. "Oh, but it is."

She ducked her head, unnerved at his ability to fluster her. Yeah, back to writing. She returned to writing, her pen moving faster than it ever had before. "Quiet, you're interrupting my creative flow."

Oh, she was flustered all right. She looked quite pretty actually, with her dark hair pulled back into a low curly ponytail, her bangs framing her face. Even in a navy sweatshirt and jeans she looked cute, all curled up in her chair, scribbling away on her pad of paper.

A smutty romance novelist. He couldn't get over his newest discovery. I'm going to have fun with this. "So, you gonna give me a preview?" he asked, slipping into the seat next to Mercedes and leaning over to see what she'd written.

Quicker than a flash of light, she flipped the pad upside-down, glaring at him a little. "I doubt you'd enjoy it."

"On the contrary—" he reached for it.

"No, really—" She pushed his hand away, trapping it between the table and her own hand. "You wouldn't like it. It's mushy romance fluff that would make a masculine man like yourself gag."

"A 'masculine man'? I thought writers would tended to avoid redundant statements."

"Please work with me here, I'm trying to make a point."

"And I'm not seeing it." He tapped the end of her nose. "There's no reason to be ashamed."

"Who says I'm ashamed?" said Mercedes as she clutched the pad to her chest and folded her arms round the incriminating paper.

"Your actions do." He leaned closer and laid a hand on her cheek, breathing in her scent. She smelled like… " Lavender and vanilla."

Mercedes swallowed. "My body spray."

"It suits you."

"Glad you think so." Her eyes crossed slightly as she tried to look at him from such a short distance. "Do you normally go around smelling girls in bars?"

"Just intoxicating ones."

"You mean intoxicated ones?" she corrected lightly.

"No." He moved closer yet again, so that their lips were a mere breath apart. "I meant what I said."

"R-really." Her breath had gone ragged. "What are you doing, Sam?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "Following an instinct?" With that, he pressed his lips onto hers, tasting their sweetness, reveling in the electrical shock that rippled through his body. Electricity—there was a new feeling. Santana's kiss had been familiar, comfortable. Quinn's had felt somewhat forbidden—now that he thought about it, it was probably the hurt and guilt that drove him with that relationship. But with Mercedes—

_Don't compare_! He told himself sharply. He pulled away from the woman in his arms. What the hell was he doing? He didn't need to get involved with anyone else, much less his ex-girlfriend's best friend. "I'm sorry I—"

He was thrown completely off guard when Mercedes finished the kiss he'd started, this one deeper, lingering, wanting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you," she mumbled, kissing the side of his mouth, "that apologizing for a kiss is a surefire way to insult a girl?"

Somehow, both of his hands had crept upward to cup her face. "Never let it be said that Sam Evans ever intentionally insulted a woman…"

And so two hurt, broken, wandering souls found solace in one another in that moment, heedless of what reparations might be heaped upon their heads. All they knew was each other, the pleasure they felt, the electricity that was so—unfamiliar, so different, so new…

"Mercedes? Sam?"

They broke apart guiltily. Mercedes had nearly shoved Sam away, her mouth agape, eyes wide. Sam's face darkened into a murderous thundercloud.

It had been too good to be true.

* * *

AN: Well that's the end of chapter 1. Tell me what you think. Who do you think that is? O: review time! (:


	2. Too Soon

**AN**: Your reviews made me smile and work extra hard on this chapter Hope you like it. (:

* * *

_Chapter 2: Too Soon._

_xox_

"Quinn…" Mercedes realized her hand was still resting on Sam's well-built chest. She hastily snatched it away and placed it in her lap, as if the hand's current hiding place would erase its former resting spot. "I… what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Sam." Her eyes flicked over to her ex-boyfriend. "Someone told me that he was here last night, and I came here on the hope that he might return…" She bit her lip. "Now I know why he came here."

Realization dawned on her. "Oh no, Quinn this isn't what it looks like—" she winced; how had she fallen so low as to be spouting clichés?—"we just met here, we didn't plan this, we just—just—"

"Were caught up in the heat of the moment," finished Sam.

Two accusatory gazes were instantly leveled upon him. Caught up in the heat of the moment? Mercedes fumed. It sounds like we're two animals or something.

"Oh really," said Quinn. "Looks like you've gotten over me rather quick, Sam. Mercedes—how long have you been in love with my ex-boyfriend?"

"In love?" she squeaked. "Never! I'm not!"

"So this is just a fun one-night fling?"

"No, no—! It's nothing!" Mercedes' words came out more forcefully than she'd intended, giving the appearance that she was trying to convince herself as well as Quinn—which she was. From the grimace that disappeared as quickly as it had come, she knew Sam didn't think it was nothing either.

But then what the hell was it? They didn't even really know each other; just knew of each other, in a familiar way.

Quinn's eyes strayed to Mercedes' pad of paper. "What's that?"

"Uh… business reports," she lied smoothly, flipping the cover shut. She'd already revealed part of her secret last night—at this rate, the entire town would know her pen name, where she lived, and what kind of toothpaste she used.

But betrayal and love can often force the mind to jump to hysterical conclusions. Quinn's eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "I see. Journal entries, Mercedes?"

"No."

"Yeah, okay."

"They're not!" It was an awful feeling, having a close friend not believe you.

"All right, have it your way." She turned to her ex-boyfriend. "Would it really have been so hard to tell me the truth, Sam? I came to apologize to you—and to tell you I'd try to be a better girlfriend this time, to not be so clingy—but I guess that's pretty much a lost cause, isn't it?"

"Quinn…" He looked as if he were searching for words. "I… shit. I don't even know the truth anymore."

Quinn swiped at her eyes. "I'm just glad I found out before we actually got married or something. Three girls at once, Sam, that's gotta be a record."

"Two, not three." He winced. "I mean—"

"It doesn't matter," she said. "It's obvious that I'm not one of those two." She drew in a shaky breath and shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "I just… Oh, never mind." Wiping her eyes with her hands, she walked out of the bar.

Sam stared after her, his face pained and hands outstretched, as if reaching after Quinn. Mercedes looked at those strong hands, protector's hands, now empty and protecting nothing.

"That went well," he said, slumping down into his chair again. "I've made a royal mess of things."

Mercedes quietly slid down in her chair too. "Looks like." She twirled a pen between her fingers, staring at the ancient wooden table, stained and tainted from years of spilled alcohol, cigarette ashes, and vomit. She lightly touched the surface, forcing herself not to flinch. "See, Sam? This is you right here."

He looked up, confused. "What is me?"

"This table. It's been battered and abused, and now it's stained and dirty. No matter how much you clean it, those stains won't go away." She looked him straight in the eye. "But they will fade, if you scrub them hard enough."

He laughed tersely. "What does that mean, in plain English?"

"It means it's time to clean up your life. Your mistakes won't go away, but they will eventually be less painful."

"Possibly. But right now I'm worried about the present, not the future." His face was stormy.

Mercedes scooted her chair over so that she was sitting directly next to him. "Look," she said, laying a hand on his arm, "you've screwed up. Badly. But who hasn't? Quinn will forgive you—eventually. And think of it this way: you've probably done her a favor by telling her the truth now instead of later."

"Uh huh, is that how you feel about Puck?" he said, meeting her gaze head-on.

Mercedes winced a bit but didn't back down. "No, right now I think he's a first-class bastard… a confused one whose childhood probably played a large role in his deficient commitment issues… but those are excuses. Valid ones, yes, but excuses nonetheless. I hate excuses."

"I do too," Sam said. "I never let my employees use them at work. Yet here I am making excuses for myself. Does hypocrisy come with age? Or with a certain amount of mistakes?"

"No, just weakness," she said bluntly. "Anyone can make excuses. Only a strong person can admit their failures."

"And recover from them." He took her hand and folded it within his own, squeezing tightly. Mercedes didn't protest; he was in need of comfort. "These weren't ideal meetings," he finally said with a laugh.

"Your first impression of me is a drunkard and a fool."

"No—" she protested.

"Yes. And it's true."

"My first impression of you was a lonely, hurting man who's a little confused."

"More than a little. And what makes you think I'm lonely? I was emotionally attached to two girls at once."

"But neither of them quenched that loneliness, did they?"

Sam looked at her sharply and then slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. "No," he admitted quietly. "And that's the worst part—all that for nothing."

"Not for nothing… you're wiser now."

"Great trade," he said bitterly.

She didn't disagree with him.

* * *

A long period of contemplative silence later, they were still sitting like that, hands entwined and Sam's arm around her. The bar was nearly empty now, the drunks having already stumbled out, and the prostitutes' wares having all been purchased.

"Will you leave soon?" he asked, speaking the first words in over an hour.

"Soon."

Neither of them moved.

"When is your next installment due? Er… chapter."

"Installment works," she laughed. "Not for a month. I have time. I just write better at night, that's all."

"And in bars?"

"No; I just needed to get out of the apartment. I'm still living with Puck, remember. I was staying with Quinn… but I guess that's out of the picture now."

Sam flinched. "Let me go talk to her. I didn't mean to evict you."

"No, don't!" Mercedes said swiftly. "It'll still be awkward. She just needs time to cool off."

"Some things can't be healed with time."

Mercedes shrugged, tucking her head back into Sam's shoulder. "Whatever."

"Maybe Puck and Quinn should get together," he joked.

"I wouldn't wish such hell on her. And besides, he already has a girlfriend. Probably two."

"Mercedes, did you ever think that maybe it was because he loved you so much that he cheated?"

Mercedes poked his side. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"I think it does. He loved you so much he was afraid to commit—it's back to that strong verses weak comparison. He wasn't strong enough to actually go all the way and marry you. It's easier to cheat."

"That doesn't make it right. And I don't want to marry a weak man."

"Yeah…"

Mercedes suddenly realized what she'd said. "Not to insinuate that you're weak—"

"It's okay."

"—because you're not," she finished.

"What do you mean, I'm not? I just ruined the lives of three women simultaneously—and now I'm cuddling with one of them." He removed his arm from her waist and placed the hand he'd been holding in her lap.

"But you admitted it," she said, feeling cold all of a sudden without his warmth. "And you'll try to repair things, won't you?" She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him so that he was facing her. "Won't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I will," he muttered. He tentatively met her eyes. "How did you know?"

"I'm a writer, remember? It's my job to build and analyze character." She pulled him into her arms, resting her head on his shoulder again. Now things felt right. "Deep inside, Sam, I think you're a good man."

He clung to her.

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here, Mercedes."

Mercedes looked up at recognizing the familiar voice and laughed delightedly. "Sam! What are you doing here?"

"Joining you for lunch, of course." He said down in the tiny chair the quaint cafes provided. "I saw you walk in here from my office and figured I could try someplace new for my lunch break."

"How thoughtful," she smirked, taking in his appearance. She'd never seen him in his work clothes before and decided that she rather liked him in a suit and tie. "How have you been?"

They hadn't seen each other since that night two weeks ago. That night when…

"Not bad. Quinn's still a little cool, but we're progressing towards polite conversation now." He smiled humorlessly. "But don't let me be the cloud on your ray of sunshine. How are you doing?"

"Better. Getting over Puck. Who, I've heard, is very close to breaking up with his girlfriend." She looked down at her empty plate and ran a fingernail across the side. "Even though I'm still hurt, I feel sorry for him. His life is going to be one hell of a roller-coaster: composed of sky-high ups and bottom-low downs, depending on what point of a relationship he's in."

Sam reached across the table and interlocked his fingers with hers, stroking his thumb across the back of her hand. "You still love him don't you?"

"No," she said.

"Mmhm… the lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Whatever, Shakespeare." She pulled her hand out of his grasp and put a menu there instead. "Figure out what you want; the waitress will be returning soon."

He gave her a look. "This conversation's not finished."

"It will be when the food comes."

His brow lowered for a moment, and then he grinned appreciatively. "What do you say I pay for lunch?"

"What do you say we split it?" she countered.

"Trying to make a point?"

"Of course."

"Fine, then, we'll do half-and-half."

"You give in much too easily," said Mercedes smugly, settling back into her chair.

Sam stepped on her foot playfully. "You might want to take that back."

"And if I don't?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Then I'm afraid—" Mercedes suddenly felt her shoe slip off her foot—"I'll have to take your shoe hostage." He reached beneath the table and emerged up again with a black pump dangling from his fingertips.

"You—" Mercedes really couldn't think of anything to say. "Cheater."

"All's fair in love and war," he smirked.

Which category do we fall under? Mercedes thought fleetingly.

"Ma'am, are you ready to order?"

Mercedes jumped a bit when she realized the waitress had returned. "Oh yes… sorry… I'll have the soup of the day, please. And water."

The waitress scribbled the order down on her pad, her mouth tightening. "And you… sir?"

"Good morning, Santana," said Sam brightly, handing her the menu. "I'll have a small Caesar salad and an iced tea."

"Very good," she said icily. Then she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Mercedes turned to Sam, her eyes wide. "Santana…?"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Forgot she worked here," he mumbled.

Mercedes reached over the table and reclaimed her shoe. "And this wasn't exactly an ideal scene to look upon."

Sam suddenly looked up, his eyes flashing. "You know what, Mercedes? I don't give a damn. She knows we're over. She knows Quinn and I are over. If she wants to judge me, that's her damn problem."

"Okay, Sam," said Mercedes soothingly.

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you like that. You were just—"

"There," she finished.

"When I needed you," he added.

He held her gaze for a minute, but then they both looked down at their plates.

_Don't get too attached_, Mercedes scolded herself, _you'll only end up heartbroken like before. Besides, this is a great chance for you to have an actual guy friend, not just a boyfriend-slash-lover. No matter how attractive and charming Sam is._

_The last thing you need_, Sam told himself firmly, _is another relationship. You may be attracted to Mercedes (_god she's gorgeous and smart and understanding and_—) but get ahold of yourself_,

"So," they said simultaneously. "No, you go first."

Then, a shared smile was only the beginning of the most enjoyable lunch break either of them had experienced in a long time.

* * *

Mercedes glanced up at her clock, noting the time. Eight p.m. She stretched and spun around in her swivel chair. The words just weren't coming tonight. She was in her comfy jeans, a sweater, and socks, all the lights were on, her curtains drawn… and that cursor was still blinking at her, the bright white document on her computer mocking her.

Screw this. She saved the document and shut down her computer, grabbing the yellow pad of paper she always kept next to her monitor. 'I'm completely uninspired. And I have less than two weeks left before my deadline. How does it always come to this?'

"I always tell myself that this time I'll get done early… watch me be furiously writing the night before," she muttered aloud. After pulling on her sneakers and finding her purse, she left her apartment (with her yellow pad tucked under her arm) and walked to her car. "I wonder if Sam will be at the bar tonight…?"

She scowled and pinched her arm in remonstration. "Sam has his own life. Sam does not spend his spare time hanging around bars, you fool."

But she couldn't squelch that annoying hope that he'd be there.

Which is why she was disappointed when she entered the bar and didn't see him sitting anywhere. She claimed her favorite table in the corner and took a moment to scan the occupants of the bar again, just in case she'd missed him.

She hadn't.

Sighing, Mercedes flipped open her notepad and started doodling, hoping that her muse would soon return.

Three alka-seltzers and one hour later, she was furiously scribbling away on her yellow pad of paper, having been inspired by a conversation she'd overheard. Brilliant. It fit in perfectly with her plot and now she could exploit the characters to—

"Mind if I join you?"

Mercedes' heart leaped as she looked up from her writing. "Sam!"

She didn't even care that she was way too happy to see him.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, shooting her one of his killer smiles. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

Really? Me too. "You're in luck—I only came because of a severe lack of inspiration."

He glanced at her paper. "Oh?"

"Oh…well…I overheard a useful conversation and… yeah… I'm inspired now!" she announced happily.

"That's good," he said, leaning back in his chair and studying her contentedly. "You just keep writing. I'll watch you."

"Really? You don't mind?" She was torn between wanting to finish the scene (her hands were itching already) and talking to him.

"Take your time. I've got nothing better to do."

"Thanks…" She smiled gratefully and returned to her chapter.

Sam watched as she frantically wrote on that yellow pad of hers, part of her lower lip tucked between her teeth, her forehead furrowed in concentration. She wasn't a knockout like many women he'd seen, but there was something about her… a subtle beauty that made you want to stare at her for hours, trying to figure out what it was…

"Don't look at me like that," she murmured, eyes still on her paper.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, I can't see you. But I can feel you."

_But I can feel you_. "I'm sorry. I'll stop." He didn't move.

"You aren't stopping." She looked up from her paper. "See? Liar."

He smiled, amused. "Does staring unnerve you?"

"Yes. Stop it. I promise I'll be done soon."

"Okay."

She returned to her writing. Sam kept staring at her. Can _she really feel my gaze?_

Mercedes looked up again. "Sam!"

He rose, walked around the table, and literally picked Mercedes up, slid into her seat, and placed her in his lap. "There. Now you can't feel me stare at you."

"Yeah, now you can't feel your legs anymore." She turned around to glare at him. "Fair trade?"

"Good enough." He hooked his arms around her waist and settled more comfortably into his chair. "Go on, write."

"I can't… not like this." She sighed and capped her pen, setting it on top of her notepad. "What do you want, Sam?"

_You_. "To talk to you."

"Fine. How was your day?"

"Not that kind of talk."

"Which to you mean?" she said patiently.

"How do you know when you've fallen in love?"

"Oh… that kind of talk." She sighed again and leaned back against his chest. "Sorry, Sam, not tonight. My brain can't handle it."

"Try."

"You tell me. What do you think love is?"

"I don't know… that's what's killing me." He leaned his face closer to hers. "I've just broken up with my girlfriend because I was in love with my ex-girlfriend…er, ex-ex-girlfriend?"

"Ex-girlfriend to the first power," she suggested.

He tickled her. "This isn't funny."

"You started it," she said, squirming away from his hand.

"I don't understand it, Mercedes," he whispered. "Why do I care so much for you? I shouldn't. I don't want to. I'll end up hurting you."

"Are you sure?" she whispered back. "Do you want to hurt me?"

"No!"

"Are you sure you're in love?"

"No…"

"Then why try and convince yourself that you are? Being in love isn't fun."

"I know." He leaned closer to her. "But I can't help it…"

She didn't protest when he captured his lips with hers. In fact, she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It was too soon; it was wrong. It was probably destructive and probably would turn around and catch them unaware…

But she didn't care.

It felt so right…

Her head screamed that this was wrong.

Her heart shouted that this was right.

So she ignored both irritating sages…

And followed her instinct.

* * *

**AN**: There you are, an early Chapter 2. I hope you review. I like knowing what people think about this story so far. I got a lot of alerts and even favs but only a few reviews..Oh well, At least people are reading. =p I will try to get the next chapter out soon. (: Tell me what you would like to happen next =p


	3. Bombshell

_Chapter 3: Bombshell._

_xox_

Mercedes rushed off to work in a happier mood than usual. The sun was a glaring yellow this morning, a fact that would have usually irritated her, but instead she smiled brightly at passersby, humming a tune in time to the click of her pumps.

She couldn't exactly put a finger on why she felt so refreshed this morning—she'd woken up in her bed, like usual, so she knew she hadn't fallen asleep in her computer chair trying to squeeze out some inspiration. Her period wasn't due for a while, but that wouldn't make her this chipper.

What was it?

Mercedes dismissed the nagging feeling from her mind and turned her thoughts to the loveliness of the day. Crisp air, blue sky, puffy white clouds— She reached down into her leather tote bag for the notepad she always carried so that she could jot down an idea for a scene ("a love rejection in broad daylight hurts worse than if the sky was nasty and grey—it was as if the brightness of the sun was mocking her, mocking them—") when the words written on the yellow lined paged caught her eye.

The next scene she'd been planning to write.

Only… it was written.

She stopped short on the sidewalk, staring at the pad. Several people behind her stumbled and cursed, but she paid them no mind.

_When did I write this_?

Bits and pieces of memories flashed through her mind. A bar. Writing. Sex scene… Sam?

Sex scene…

Bed…

Mercedes felt her knees turn to jelly in growing horror as the photograph-like memories flashed through her brain.

No wonder she was so damn cheerful this morning.

Mercedes jumped as her phone vibrated on her hip. She fumbled for the clasp, noting the caller ID before answering. Her face flushed a deeper shade of red—the hue of guilt—as she said, "Morning, Quinn. What's up…?"

* * *

"Afternoon, Mercedes," Sam said cheerfully, joining her at the tiny café table. "How are you doing this lovely—"

"What the hell did we do last night?"

Undeterred by her sharp words, he grinned. "Would you like me to go into detail?"

"A concise explanation would be sufficient," she said through gritted teeth.

He shrugged. "We both needed it and we were available."

"Available? So it's matter of availability, is it? If I had been, say, Quinn, would you have done what we did?"

"Most likely not."

"Why?"

"She's too innocent. I always feel guilty the morning after."

"Great. So I'm just her experienced stand-in. Good thing I had all that practice with Puck."

"Don't be bitter." He reached across the table for her hand. "It was different."

"Good different or bad different?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Good different, I think," he said. "It was… new. Exciting."

"Yeah, that usually happens with a new partner," she said sarcastically, taking out her anger on Sam. She didn't leap into bed with anybody. She'd lost her virginity to Puck, but only because she'd loved him and thought he returned the feeling.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. We've got…" he hesitated. "Chemistry. Mercedes, I don't understand it any more than you. Why try and muddle our minds even more?"

"Because it's not right."

He obviously hadn't expected this answer. "It isn't?"

"No. If anything, it's a rebound. For both of us. You don't need me to tell you rebounds spell trouble."

"Sometimes they work out. I'm sure there's a statistic somewhere that shows the percentage of rebounds that—"

"Forget it. We won't be in that percentage."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Look at our track record—neither of us has good luck."

Sam shrugged. "The wind always changes direction eventually."

"True; it can take a turn for the worst."

"Quite the pessimist this morning, aren't you?"

"I usually am when I have no recall of the night before until I'm halfway to work."

"Let me buy you coffee—that will make things all better."

She sighed, but relented. "Fine. We'll continue this conversation later."

"Now where have I heard that before?" he asked, smirking.

"From a wise woman who should learn to take her own advice," she muttered.

* * *

Mercedes turned the volume up on the portable radio that sat on the window, humming along to the tune as she washed the tomatoes she'd bought just that morning from a fruit and vegetable stand around the corner. Dragging back her vague memories of her year spent in Italy (the youngest representative from her company to go work in a foreign post for a time), she carefully began to make a traditional Italian spaghetti dinner.

_For Sam._

We are pleased to present the Certified Fool Award to Miss Mercedes Jones! Congratulations!

Mercedes sighed and did a little dance while grating the mozzarella cheese. The tomato sauce and fettuccini noodles were both cooking on the stove; she estimated they'd be done…well, right around the time Sam was supposed to show up.

Supposed to.

An image of Quinn popped up in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. Was there anything wrong with two friends having dinner together on a Friday night? (In her apartment and after they'd had lunch together every day for almost two weeks now?)

"I'm not doing anything wrong," she said aloud.

"Conscience worrying you, Mercedes?"

She jumped nearly a foot in the air and spun around, grated mozzarella cheese flying everywhere. "P-Puck!"

He grinned in that sexy way that used to make her melt—hell, that still did make her melt—and leaned against the doorpost. "Hi."

"How did you get in here?"

He dangled a key from his fingers. "My Christmas present last year, remember?"

She did. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you really that displeased to see me?" His tone and smile belied his words' connotation. "Whatcha cooking?"

"Spaghetti." She was still frozen in place, her knuckles turning white from gripping the cheese grater so tightly.

"I didn't know you cooked Italian."

She shrugged. She had to get him out of here before Sam showed up…

"Mind if I stay to sample it?"

No! "No… I don't think so…sorry." She gave him a small smile. "I'm really tired tonight, Puck."

He arched a brow. "Apparently not tired enough to make yourself a fantastic dinner."

"This is hardly a five-star meal," she retorted, although she felt her cheeks redden. She hated lying—and she hated getting caught lying. "I wanted to reward myself for working so hard today."

"Plausible," conceded Puck, sampling the tomato sauce with his finger. Mercedes squawked and smacked him with her wooden spoon. "Haven't you ever heard of a thing called germs?"

"When every one of your professors mentions Louis Pasteur at least three times a day, you try to forget about them."

"So if I mention sex at least three times a minute, you'll try and forget about it?"

He reached around and pinched her bottom. "Nice try."

Mercedes punched him in the shoulder—hard. "Do that again and you're dead."

"I'm wounded, Mercedes," he proclaimed, putting on a hurt face. "There was a time when you used to giggle and kiss me for such an action."

"There was also a time when I entertained notions of marrying you," she said. "Oh, I'm sorry—that was harsh wasn't it?" Good.

Puck sighed. "It's hard seeing you this bitter," he said, being completely candid for once. He even looked—regretful?

"Yeah well," she said, stirring the sauce a bit, "that tends to happen when your dreams are ripped out beneath your feet by a person you trusted."

"Look: I'm sorry. Okay? I'm. Sorry. I didn't meant to hurt you this badly, I didn't think you'd take it so hard—"

"Sorry, I'm not used to walking into our apartment and seeing my boyfriend and a coworker getting it on."

"Mercedes—"

"You're sorry. I know. And I forgive you. And why the hell are we talking about this?"

"Got me," he said wearily. "This subject always seems to surface, doesn't it? No matter what we do."

"Guess these things take time to get over."

He blew out hard. "Yeah…"

They stood in silence for a few minutes, she stirring, he staring off into space.

"Well," he finally said, "inane as this will sound, I'm glad we're still friends."

If that's what you want to call it. "Yeah. Me too," she said dully.

Ding-dong.

Mercedes froze but quickly resumed stirring. "Now who could that be?"

"Good question," said Puck cheerfully. "I'll go get it!"

Mercedes nearly choked. What! No—!

But Puck had already reached her front door in less than five strides. He threw open the door… and blinked. "Sam?"

Shit shit shit shit— Mercedes hurried out of the kitchen.

"Uh, Mercedes? Quinn's boyfriend's here to see you."

"Ex-boyfriend," corrected Sam innocently.

"Oh?" Puck said, shooting Mercedes a look. She winced. Sam smirked. "Oh…" Puck said again, a little cooler this time. "I see…"

"Puck—" she started.

"Never mind," he said, forcing a laugh. "It's only right that you should move on."

"Puck. Have you not heard of 'friends'?"

He looked at Sam and Mercedes once again and laughed softly. "Friends… right." He shook his head wryly and brushed past Sam. "Enjoy your dinner," he called over his shoulder.

Sam shut the door. "What's up with him."

Mercedes sank down into her couch. "You're so oblivious, Sam."

"Me? What about Puck? At least I'm not the one still pining after my ex-girlfriend after I cheated on her."

"Point there." Like she was going to disagree.

"He needs to relax." Sam flopped down on the couch next to Mercedes and poked her in the stomach. "So what about this authentic Italian dinner you're making me?"

Mercedes' eyes opened wide. "Shi—" She dashed into the kitchen, the sound of Sam's laughter ringing behind her.

* * *

"You sure this is legal?"

"Perfectly."

"But wouldn't it technically be trespassing—"

"Not if we're on my roof."

"Actually…" Mercedes shifted, looking down. "I think I'm on your neighbor's roof."

He shrugged. "Then I hope you have a good lawyer."

She kicked his leg. "Why don't we switch places, hm?"

"I don't have money for a lawyer. Surely you can take a few thousand out of your royalties."

"Why did I agree to this again?"

"Because you love star-gazing as much as I do?"

"Probably." She shivered and scooted closer to him. They were laying on the roof of Sam's—and his neighbor's—apartment. (Sam's place was pretty small.) "Though I was surprised when you first told me."

"Why?"

"Because usually only romantic guys like to stargaze."

He sat up indignantly. "Are you saying I'm not—"

"Romantic? No, Sam, you are not. You are crude and ignorant and untactful—but there's this certain charm and appeal to you that make women fall head over heels regardless."

"Uh… thanks… I think…" His eyes had glazed over.

She pulled him back down. "You're welcome."

They stared up at the sky in silence for a good amount of time.

"Look," said Mercedes, pointing, "it's a ballerina."

Sam gave her a look. "Isn't that cloud-watching where you find shapes?"

"Picky picky. Don't be so discriminatory. I can look for objects in the stars if I want to."

He sighed. "You're so complicated."

"And this is a surprise to you?"

"Not really. But it's fun to say." He nudged her shoe with his.

She kicked him back.

A kick-of-war ensued, in which Mercedes nearly tumbled off the roof. "Bully," she said, hanging onto his waist for dear life.

Sam hauled her farther up the roof, in a safer spot. "But you love me anyway."

"Who said anything about the 'L' word?" teased Mercedes.

"I did," said Sam in complete sincerity. He lowered his head and barely brushed her lips with his. He made no move to deepen the kiss; Mercedes followed suit. There was something special, something sacred about not letting themselves go further, to just relish the simplicity of the kiss…

Of course, five minutes later, they were exchanging saliva.

"Mercedes," Sam asked, between kisses, "why you? Why couldn't it be Quinn? Why couldn't it be Santana?"

"Don't… know…" She pulled him closer. "Just don't leave—please—"

"I won't. I won't."

That's what Puck said. (But this is different. This is Sam.)

She didn't want to let him go. They'd been talking every day on the phone for nearly three months, and eating a meal together at least three times a week.

She didn't want to let him go.

She wasn't able to let him go.

"Don't leave me—"

He disengaged his lips from hers long enough to look her straight in the eye and say: "Mercedes, I promise you, I will do everything in my power not to leave you."

She responded by pulling him back down for another searing kiss.

Could it… be possible that Fate actually had done something right? That things could possibly work out for them?

She pushed the thought out of her mind, unwilling to let herself hope.

* * *

Sam kissed Mercedes' forehead as he tucked her into bed. Much as he would like to spend the night with her, he had work early the next morning. Their star-gazing dates had increased frequency (one week they'd gone every night), the bags under his eyes testimony to this. Sam made sure that they always stargazed on his roof, so he could walk her home at night, thus being the last one to get home (and get the least amount of sleep).

Mercedes hadn't quite caught on to his subtle act of chivalry yet. He was hoping to keep it that way.

Sam was in a cheery mood as he walked home tonight, just looking at the skies and thinking. He'd found her. He'd actually found a woman to love and—marry?

Easy boy. Take it slow.

He whistled merrily as he bounded up the stairs to his apartment. The elevator had been broken for years and was currently being used as a storage closet for the "custodians" (who did little more than dust the remote corners of the building and spent the rest of the time playing tic-tac-toe on the walls).

Sam kicked open the door, slightly alarmed to find it open before he remembered that he hadn't locked it. Reassured, he shut it and locked it, flipping on the light switch.

Then he froze.

"Q…Quinn?" What the hell are you doing here?

Her face was pale as she rose from her place on his couch. "Sam."

"Um… it's nice to see you again?" He hoped she wouldn't notice his mussed hair. Or that hickey on his neck...

"I'm sorry for coming uninvited," she continued, "but I just kind of… panicked. I needed to see you."

"Okay," he said slowly. Was she in trouble of some sort? Maybe she needed him to beat someone up. Please, please, let that be it. "What's up?"

She wet her lips, her hazel eyes wide and unseeing. "Sam…" She swallowed and tried again, wringing her hands nervously. "I'm pregnant."

Bam.

* * *

Bam indeed. Review time. (:


	4. Lingering

AN: Don't hate me! D:

* * *

_Chapter 4: Lingering._

_xox_

Mercedes frowned and only buried deeper into her chair when she heard the knock. Whoever was bothering her at this ungodly hour could wait till morning.

The knock grew more instant. She turned the page.

The knock sounded almost angry now. Thoroughly annoyed, Mercedes rose from her chair and flung open the door. "What the hell do you—?"

Sam brushed past her, not saying a word. He collapsed into her comfy armchair and let his head fall back into air. "What did I do in my past life to deserve this?"

Mercedes shut the door with her foot. "Judging by the look on your face, many horrible things."

"This isn't funny, woman," he growled, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Sorry, Sam, you're on my domain; humor and sarcasm are sacred deities in this realm."

He winced at the obvious nickname. "Understood."

"Now." Mercedes walked over to him and sat on his lap. "Spill."

His hand rested lightly on her back, and then circled around her waist, drawing her close. "I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning is always a good place."

"Too bad I have no idea where it's located."

"Well, what made you rush over here when it's nearly one in the morning?" she prompted.

"Quinn showed up at my doorstep tonight," he said bluntly.

Mercedes stiffened. "Oh?"

"She gave me some…disturbing news."

"She's moving."

"No…"

"She's found a new boyfriend." _Please, let that be—_

"No."

"She's pregnant," said Mercedes flatly.

Sam flinched.

"Well, so what?" Mercedes said boldly. "She loves children … I don't see why she'd have any qualms about raising a kid—"

"She wants me to marry her."

Silence.

Then Mercedes said: "Well, that's selfish."

"And if I don't, she's going to abort it."

"The hell!" This wasn't the Quinn she knew.

"Don't judge her, Mercedes. She doesn't want to be a single, working mother who is scorned by her peers for 'sleeping around.' She can't afford to lose her reputation over a boyfriend mistake."

"So she's going to sacrifice your happiness in the process?"

"She promises I'll be happy," he said quietly.

"Yeah? What's her definition of 'happy'?"

"She said she'd do whatever it takes to please me." He buried his face in her shoulder. "I've screwed up bad, Mercedes."

"Yeah…"

"I don't want to fix it."

"So don't…"

"But I know I have to."

"You don't have to do anything."

"I may be a little confused, but I do have a sense of honor."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're going to marry Quinn?" She felt the heat rise in the back of her neck.

Sam looked at her carefully. "Yes."

Mercedes climbed off his lap. "I see. I was being jerked around. Quinn is more important to you."

"I didn't say that."

"It's what you implied."

"How does 'I'm marrying Quinn out of honor' equate to 'she means more to me'?"

"Obviously if you're willing to marry the girl, she has a higher status!"

"Mercedes!" He grabbed her arms. "I didn't say I love her more. But if I got her pregnant—"

"Yeah? What happens if in a month or two I discover I'm expecting? What will you do, marry both of us? Does your honor condone polygamy?"

"I would stay true to Quinn," he said quietly, "because I wronged her first."

"So if I had the foresight to break the 'big news' to you before she had, I would've been the winner?"

"Mercedes, don't do this."

"Don't my feelings matter at all?"

"Don't mine?" he gritted, dropping her arms. "How do you think I feel, having to marry the woman I once loved, but whose appeal towards me is fading? How do you think I feel, knowing that I'm leaving the one I'm falling in love with behind—"

Mercedes pursed her lips. "You can't say that."

"Why not?"

"You don't even know what love is."

"Damned if I ever claimed I did." He took a step closer and rested his hand on her cheek. "But I sure know what it feels like."

She stopped him from kissing her. "Don't."

"Why can't life just ever go the way I want it to?" he murmured, running a thumb across her lips.

"Because that would be pretty selfish of you, wouldn't it?" she said lightly. "Maybe your version of a good world would make someone else miserable."

"Like you?" Sam's eyes were boring into hers.

She swallowed. "Maybe."

Wordlessly, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently. She didn't protest, just closed her eyes and reveled the feeling of being in his arms. Perhaps for the last time.

* * *

_Lies… lies… all lies…_

_"How could you?" the shadowy girl screamed. "I feel so betrayed!"_

_'I'm sorry…' whispered Mercedes. She was floating through a maze of lies, unable to tell what was truth and what was fiction._

_A shadow floated in front of her. "Don't you trust me?"_

_"Not if you don't tell me who you are!"_

_The shadow consolidated until it formed Sam, who was in a tux. Quinn appeared at his side a moment later, in a wedding gown._

_'I'm sorry,' Sam mouthed. He pulled a gun out of his pocket, leveled it towards her forehead and fired._

Mercedes bolted upright, breathing heavily. Bemused, she looked around her shadowy apartment, surprised to find herself on the couch. Beside her, Sam was waking. She must have awoken him when she suddenly jerked out of his arms.

Breathing out slowly, she eased back down onto the couch, pulling her sweater more tightly around her. She was cold. And disturbed. She hated nightmares. Especially those that bordered so closely on the truth.

"S'matter?" mumbled Sam.

"Bad dream." She nestled her head onto his shoulder, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt under her cheek. Something was nagging at her—something about her dream. What was it?

Yawning, she drifted back off to sleep…

And bolted upright for the second time. "Sam!"

"Wha—!" His eyes snapped open. "What's wrong?"

"How do you know it's your baby?"

He stared at her, uncomprehending. "Huh?"

"How do you know it's your child Quinn's carrying? What if it's someone else's?"

Sam rubbed his eyes wearily. "Mercedes. This is Quinn we're talking about. I was her first. There's no way it's someone else's baby."

"You're sure?"

"Positive." He gave her a look. "And you're her best friend. You know her well enough."

"I did," she muttered. "But what if she's lying?" she couldn't help but add.

"About what? Being pregnant?" Sam sounded incredulous. "Quinn couldn't tell a lie to save her life. Much less do it in person with a straight face."

"Desperate times—"

"Mercedes…" He pulled her back down onto the couch, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm sorry."

"Not sorrier than I am…"

She was sickened that she actually found herself wishing that Quinn was lying… yet still sickened even more that their friendship was pretty much ruined at this point.

The age-old question: best friend or boyfriend?

Depends on which one ends up being less deceitful.

* * *

The next time Mercedes awoke, her apartment was completely light. She groaned and reached for the covers to pull them closer—

And instead tumbled off the couch.

"Ugh…" She grimaced as she sat up, rubbing her tailbone. Then a thought struck her. "Sam…?"

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Please tell me he did not slink off in the middle of the night. A quick perusal of her apartment revealed that he indeed had left her—alone—without saying goodbye.

"If he's gone to see Quinn, I swear I will castrate the insensitive jerk…" Fuming, she stomped into her kitchen, needing a cup of coffee. Badly.

The bright rays of sunshine streaming through her window were not at all comforting to her. Their sole objective seemed to be blinding her.

Mercedes pushed the button on the coffee machine, rubbing her temples. Why did he leave without telling me?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a piece of white paper lying on the table. A note from Sam!

She snatched it up, immediately disappointed by the meager explanation. _Sorry to leave so soon—I've got some thinking to do. I'll call you later. — Sam._

Mercedes crumpled the paper in her hand and chucked it into the trash can.

At least she and Quinn had something in common now. She and Santana as well, for that matter.

They were all fools for love.

Maybe they should all gang up and eliminate Sam from this world; that would at least take away the pain.

And take our hearts away with it.

* * *

Mercedes called in sick to work that day—not because of a broken heart, but because she'd been inspired. She took another swig of water from her glass and returned to furiously typing away on her computer. The sun was out and the curtains were blowing lightly in the breeze… it if wasn't for the roaring sound of the traffic below her window, Mercedes would've been able to forget where she was.

Nine pages in three hours—this was a record so far. If she kept writing at this pace, she'd be able to turn this installment in before the deadline… and then possibly get a head start on her next deadline.

If this is all it takes to become inspired, I should start dating more. Requirement: you must break my heart before every deadline. It was foolproof.

She recalled at three p.m. that she hadn't eaten any lunch and vaguely reminded herself to eat something… but she couldn't drag herself away from the story. Around 6 p.m., her stomach growled so loudly that it startled her out of her writing trance. She realized then that she hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning, and even that was only a few pieces of toast and some coffee. "Guess I'd better go get something to eat," she murmured to herself, saving the document and rising from her chair.

She swayed a little as fuzzy black spots filled her vision (Guess I stared at that computer screen too long, she thought) and made a quick search of her apartment for her purse before leaving her home and practically running down the staircase that led to the lobby. Now that she was aware of her hunger, she thought she was going to die if she didn't get food soon.

While she was running down the sidewalk, mentally perusing the various restaurants she could attend, she became aware of her attire. Living next to the business district of the city had its drawbacks sometimes; she was now pushing through crowds of power suits and briefcases in her gym shorts, tee-shirt, flip flops, and tote bag. Oops.

Mercedes passed The Bar (as it had become known in her mind—capital letters and all) quickly, with her head down, as if it would somehow lure her inside, seduce her to frequent its counters. Damn that place—I wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for it.

But then I wouldn't have ever known Sam either.

Then again, is he worth it?

She forced herself not to answer that question.

Mercedes' eyes caught the familiar steel-grey letters that hung on the sign over the familiar café where she and Sam had lunched so many times… and apparently restaurants could seduce, because she found herself moving toward the front door and into the diner. "One," she heard herself say to the waitress waiting expectantly at the counter. She felt her feet propelling her to the table, and her legs folding under herself as she sat down into her usual spot at the two-seater table.

Only this time, the seat across from her was empty.

Stop thinking about him, damn it! You were a single woman for so much more time than you were taken… well, sort-of-taken…

But you couldn't go home again.

It was funny how one experience could change one's outlook on life.

Mercedes ordered water to start with and pulled out her pad of yellow paper from her tote bag. At least writing would keep her out of misery. She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her fist, creating a comfortable position for writing. Her hair pooled onto the black-and-white plaid tablecloth, hiding her face from the rest of the restaurant.

She felt safe now. Safe from anyone who might possibly show up and ask to sit at her table—or a certain someone she wished would appear and sit down at her table—

There was movement across from her as someone lowered themself into the seat across from her. Mercedes' head shot up, as she hoped, wished—

Her jaw dropped slightly.

"Expecting someone else?" the person said.

"I— aren't you supposed to be working, or—?"

"I have something to tell you."

"About—"

"Just listen." Santana leaned back in her chair and regarded Mercedes with probing eyes. "Sam said you'd be here tonight."

Mercedes felt her cheeks warm. "It's not like that, I haven't eaten since lunch and this place is close—"

"You don't need to provide me with excuses. I, too, have experienced the spell he casts over women."

"Hey, now—"

"You know it's true." Santana fiddled with the tip of her apron. "Sam came to see me this morning."

Mercedes bit her lip. He left her without saying goodbye to go talk to… Santana?

"And he told me all about his little dilemma."

_So confiding in me wasn't enough? You had to go tell your ex-ex-girlfriend too?_

"He's… a very confused man right now," continued Santana. "I managed to gather from his rambling speech that he loves you, only Quinn's pregnant and he agreed to marry her because of his sense of honor even though he doesn't love her anymore and even though you could possibly be pregnant too…"

"I am not pregnant," Mercedes hissed.

"But you are sleeping with him," said Santana levelly.

Mercedes looked away.

"I thought so." Santana leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. Even in an undignified position the woman seemed cool and composed. Completely unlike Sam. Mercedes wondered how the two of them had ever dated. "But I think he really cares for you, Mercedes. More than he ever did for me. Or Quinn, for that matter."

Mercedes flinched at the slight bitterness in Santana's tone. Well who can blame her? "Why do you say that?" she asked, forcing herself not to get her hopes up.

"Because he's actually worried. You think he stressed over how I felt when he started dating Quinn? 'Santana, I told you this wouldn't work out. You deserve better than me.' This morning it was, 'Mercedes' going to hate me now. I'm going to lose her—I don't deserve to be happy, but she doesn't deserve to be unhappy.'"

"Why are you telling me this?"

Santana's eyes narrowed a bit. "Because you deserve to know. You deserve to know how much he loves you even though he's going to marry Quinn."

Mercedes winced. "He won't."

"You think so? Then I advise you to open your eyes. You of all people should know the male psyche."

Mercedes nearly fell out of her chair. "What?"

"I've freelance edited a few of your novels—some of your newer ones. I go by my middle name—when editing. I used to edit full time until my husband opened this restaurant—he needed my help, so I figured it wouldn't hurt too much to go part-time."

Mercedes blinked. And blinked again. "Excuse me? Your what?"

"I got married shortly after Sam dumped me. Rebound, you could say… but I really do love him." Mercedes could've sworn she saw a dreamy smile on the waitress's face.

"Well, that's…great, Santana…" Just give me a few minutes to digest this…

"Sorry, I've digressed, haven't I? Excuse me. I really sat down to relay Sam's message."

"Oh?"

"He said to tell you he's sorry but he's going to be absent from your life for the next few days… because he has to 'work some stuff out.' His words."

Mercedes clenched her fork within her fist. Bastard.

"But he also said not to worry about him because he's not worth it."

"Yeah, thanks, why doesn't he let me decide these things for myself?"

"I think he thinks he's doing you a favor." Santana sighed. "Like I said, he cares about you much more than he ever did me. That means something."

"Does it?" said Mercedes gloomily, absently tracing the lines of the tablecloth with her fork.

"Careful—you'll rip the tablecloth," Santana warned.

Mercedes ceased her drawing. "Sorry." _Geez, at least let me brood in peace_. "Do you… which choice do you think he'll make?"

Santana was quiet for a minute. "That all depends."

"On what?"

"On what he decides to be the decision that'll hurt the least amount of people."

Mercedes stared at her. "I wish him good luck."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." Santana stood. "It was nice talking to you, Mercedes. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"It's okay." It's not. "Thanks." _For nothing._

* * *

The bar hadn't lost its seductive appeal after Mercedes had finished her dinner and was walking home. The city had already fallen dark and the light that glowed in the dirty windows seemed to beckon her. What are the chances Sam would seek comfort within his favorite bar?

She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, indecisive, for a few minutes. What if she went in? She had her yellow pad. She could write anywhere. And if he happened to come in…

Resolute, she strode into the bar, heading to her familiar table near the back.

* * *

For the better part of the night, Mercedes sat at the table, writing and jerking her head up whenever she saw someone enter the bar. Needless to say, she was rather distracted. Although she did manage to finish the chapter she'd been working on. At least I'll send an installment in on time. For once.

She was reluctant to leave the bar, having this awful feeling that the moment she left would be when Sam would walk in. But when the clock hit eleven p.m., it was obvious he wasn't going to show up any time soon. I'm pathetic. Go home, Mercedes, stop pining over that loser.

Mercedes walked home slowly, savoring the balmy feel of the night, noticing the stars… wishing Sam were there with her. "Stupid," she berated herself, unlocking the front door of her apartment building with her key. The five flights of stairs seemed unnaturally tall this evening… it took her twice as long to climb them.

She opened her apartment and kicked the door shut. The couch was calling to her. Flinging her flip-flops off, she collapsed onto the sofa… and shrieked when she hit something warm. "What the—!" Mercedes scrambled off the couch and fumbled for the light switch.

A just-woken-up Sam blinked down at her. "Lord, woman, you nearly burst my eardrums."

"S-serves you right for scaring me like that!" Mercedes forced herself to breathe. "And what are you doing here? I waited for you in that bar for hours!"

"I thought you would."

"And you let me?"

"I needed time to think." He gave her a measuring look. "And I think you needed it too."

"Jerk."

"Stop complaining. I bet you got a whole chapter written."

Mercedes hid the pad of paper behind her back. "What are you talking about?"

"Liar." He joined her on the floor and pulled the pad out from behind her back. "Let's read it together, shall we? A little bedtime story."

"Sam!" She made a grab for the pad, but he jerked it away, laughing.

"No, no," he said, "I think I'm going to enjoy this." He flipped to a random page and began to read. "_It suddenly became hard to breathe. __Keira__ backed up slowly until she was pushed against the wall of the elevator_."

"No! Sam, you always chose the worst parts!" Mercedes made a grab for her paper again, but he held her back, using his foot to hold her down.

"_'Stay away,' she warned. 'I mean it. You won't hurt me again—' Her words were cut off as Tyler covered her mouth with his hand. 'Listen to me,' he said huskily_."

"SAM!"

"Yes, darling?" he said, grinning. "This is very interesting. _'I would never intentionally hurt you—but sometimes…sometimes unforeseen circumstances arise and… there's nothing you can do… even when you're so in love you that you feel more pain than joy…'_ Wow, this guy's pretty deep. _'Even though my actions say "I don't care" know that inside I do…' 'Yeah, well actions speak louder than words,' Keira snarled._" Sam paused. "Bitter girl."

"Smart girl."

He looked down at her. "Is this how you feel about me?"

Mercedes looked away. "No."

"You don't lie very well." He slowly set aside the pad of paper and reached down for her, pulling her off the floor and into his arms. "This is hurting me too."

"It doesn't have to," she mumbled, burying her face in his shirt.

"Life hurts, Mercedes." He rubbed her back gently.

"You don't have to marry her. Does she really love you? You'll be miserable in less than a year. Perhaps she'll find someone else she loves better, and they can raise her child."

"Our child. I'm responsible too."

"You made a mistake."

"And I have to take responsibility for it."

You choose now of all times to develop a conscience! She pushed Sam away. "I'm going to bed."

"No you're not." He pulled her back into his arms, but she punched him. Hard.

"Yes, I am," she said. She stalked off to her room, leaving him on the floor, sadly watching her leave.

He deserves it. He thinks he can tell me he loves me like that and then turn around and marry his ex-girlfriend because it's his "duty" to do so? She climbed into bed as she was, no shower, no pajamas—and no Sam.

It took her a good two hours to fall asleep, all the time wondering if Sam had left yet.

When she awoke in the morning, she tumbled out of bed and rushed into her living room, hoping, hoping that Sam would miraculously somehow still be there.

He wasn't.

But he left a note on the couch, by her yellow notepad.

Dread sinking into the pit of her stomach, Mercedes slowly walked over to the couch and picked up the note.

_I'm sorry. I wish it could be different too. I love you._

Mercedes stared at the note for a minute and then let it fall to the ground. Sometimes words just aren't enough. She sank to the ground and picked up the pen and paper, doodling Sam's name around the border. She felt hollow without his presence… incomplete.

How can he marry a woman he doesn't love?

It didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Mercedes crossed out his name from the margins and got to her feet. She had a chapter to send in to her editor. She lingered at the window a little longer than usual, staring at Sam's apartment building a few blocks away.

From the sidewalk, the said man stared up at her with a pained and longing expression on his face.

* * *

4 chapters down. On to the next one & maybe a few oneshots should check them out review time! Until next chapter.


	5. Reality Check

**AN**: You guys are awesome with your reviews. You all collectively hate Quinn now. Not so sure about Puck but I guess that's going to change after this chapter. It's mostly Puckcedes so heads up there. O:

* * *

Chapter 5: Reality Check

xox

Mercedes moved the coffee stirrer around in circles, creating different patterns within the black. She could've sworn the cream formed Sam's profile for a moment…

"Ugh." She began to stir the coffee with aggression now, staring down into her cup darkly. "Die."

"Now what'd that cup of coffee ever do to you?" said Puck mildly as he sat down next to her.

"Fuck off, Puck."

"Jesus." Puck stared at her. "What's your problem today?"

"Right now you are my problem."

"Well at least it's not serious then."

She stared at him.

"I'm just kidding!" he said defensively.

"I'll just your kidding—"

"Geez, Mercedes, you need to grow up," he said, snatching up his lunch and rising from the table.

"And you need to get a grip on reality. You can't cheat on a girl and then expect things to be hunky-dory between you two." She regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. "No. I'm sorry. Puck—"

He clenched his jaw. "It's okay. I'll go eat somewhere else."

"No—Puck—" she caught the edge of his suit jacket. "Stay." She hesitated. "Please."

He stared down at her for a moment, and finally relented. "Fine." He sat down and began to eat his salad. "So," he said, between bites, "you gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

"Sam," she said bluntly. What was the point in pretense?

Puck choked a little, but recovered nicely. "Really. How's he done you wrong?"

"You don't even want to know," she said, letting her head fall into her hands. "A whole bunch of crap that's too complicated to explain."

"Nothing is too complicated for Puck," he declared. "Now tell the Wise One all your problems."

She smiled slightly. "I'm sure you don't want to hear them."

"Of course I do."

"You won't get all protective and defensive even though you have no right to?"

He scowled. "Fine."

"All right, then—my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend is pregnant and threatening to abort it if he doesn't marry her and he's actually thinking about doing it. The ex-girlfriend is also one of my … well, former good friends and yesterday I found out that his ex-ex-girlfriend, the one he dumped for his ex-girlfriend, is my editor and thinks that I should move on because my boyfriend is an asshole."

"Wow, that's rough." Puck took a bite of sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before continuing, "Unfortunately, that's also life."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear."

"I know. But it's the truth. And looks like you can't really do anything right now but wait, am I right?"

She refrained from chucking her coffee mug at him. "Unfortunately, yes."

"So everything rests upon Sam's decision."

"Pretty much."

"Well, from my perspective, you can do one of two things: one, just wait, or two, throw yourself into seducing him."

"You know that's not me."

"Then I hope waiting doesn't bother you."

"Yeah, that'd be ideal."

They finished the rest of their meal in silence. When Puck had finished his food, he gathered up his trash and pushed back his chair. "Well… it was nice talking to you again, Mercedes."

"Always a pleasure," she said sarcastically.

"It is," he said seriously, which threw her off guard. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Sure, Puck." Anything to get him to leave. He was creeping her out.

"Bye."

He left.

Mercedes stared out the window for the remainder of lunch break, daydreaming. Something told her this day wasn't going to be very productive.

* * *

Stupid warships. They just didn't want to be blown up, did they? Well, she'd show them…

Mercedes furiously pounded away at her keyboard, determined to win the computer game. She'd muted the sound, so to anyone who passed by, it'd merely look like she was very, very angry at a report she was typing—

"Uh… is this a bad time, Mercedes?"

Mercedes jumped and guiltily spun around in her chair. "Oh—uh—Quinn. Hey. God, you scared me, I thought you were my boss or something."

The corners of Quinn's mouth tilted upward in a half-smile. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Uh, sure, but you better make it quick, 'cause if the boss sees us socializing—"

"He's in a conference. He won't be out anytime soon."

"Oh. Okay. Take a seat, then?"

"Thanks." Quinn settled herself in the chair opposite Mercedes' desk… and then fell silent.

Mercedes twirled a pen between her fingers. If she's going to force me to make small talk, I'm going to throw this pen at her. Because I don't do small talk. I hate it. Why did she come in here if she's not going to talk? I am NOT going to be the first one to talk, I won't I won't I—

"So, what's up?" she found herself saying.

_Damn it._

"Quite a bit, actually," Quinn said evenly, surprising Mercedes with her bluntness. "I've never liked pretense, so if it's okay with you, can I just speak frankly?"

"Uh…sure…"

"I always hated those stories where two friends became enemies over a guy," she said. "I always thought that was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard—a man is not worth a friendship gone down the drain."

Oh really.

"But now that I'm living it…" Quinn faltered for a minute. "Mercedes, I really have no way to say this, but I am so, so sorry for this."

Mercedes blinked. "What are you sorry for?"

"For… being the other woman. I mean, this sounds awful, but I know how it feels. Seeing you and Sam together had me crying my eyes out for days on end and now I'm… I guess I'm doing the same thing to you…" Quinn broke off and stared glumly into space. "Yeah, this speech isn't going how I planned it. But I really am sorry and I know I wasn't the world's best friend when I found out about you and Sam, but I just wanted to say that if you can ever forgive me, I'm here."

Mercedes stared at Quinn, her heart sinking. What does she mean 'she's doing the same thing'? Then Mercedes noticed the diamond ring on Quinn's left hand.

No…

"Sam agreed to marry you?" she said flatly.

Quinn's eyes widened. "He… uh… didn't tell you… yet?"

"No, he hadn't," Mercedes said, her voice much to cheerful.

"Fuck," said Quinn softly.

"Well, never mind, I know now. This is good, really good, now it won't be such a shock when the bastard actually gets up his nerve to speak to me—oh wait, sorry, no offense to your fiancé."

"None taken. He is a bastard." A hint of a smile passed over Quinn's face. "But we still love him, hm?"

_Get the hell out of my office_. "Yeah. So I'll see you later, okay, Quinn? Take—" She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Quinn didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, you take care too," she said hollowly, standing. "And, Mercedes—uh, I really am sorry."

"I know you are," Mercedes found herself saying.

Quinn exited her office.

Mercedes dropped her head into her hands. "Why me…?"

Might as well go home. It's not like I'll be getting anything else done here.

So she packed up her briefcase and walked out of the office, a full four hours early. She didn't even care what they'd do to her when they found out.

About halfway back to her apartment, her purposeful stride slowed and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "What the hell am I doing?" she asked herself allowed. Here I am walking home, unable to continue my day because a man broke my heart. That is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. Why should I put my life on a standstill just because some indecisive bastard made a wrong choice?

A full fifteen minutes had gone by, so it was a little far-fetched to claim she'd gone to the bathroom. Maybe they'd believe her if she said she'd been feeling queasy and ran to the local drugstore to pick up some medication. Maybe she could claim extreme menstrual pains. Maybe she could claim temporary insanity, which was, surprisingly, the closest truth yet.

As it turned out, she needed none of her hastily-concocted excuses. The entire sixth floor of her office building was in a worried uproar because America's economy had just taken a pretty serious turn for the worse—something to do with the stock market and cowardly capitalists.

No one had noticed Mercedes' absence, but now that she was here, they swept her up into their mob of hyperventilating and nervous discussion.

The whole company left before five p.m. anyway.

* * *

Mercedes wearily trudged into her apartment, kicking off her shoes and leaving them in a pile by the floor, and letting her bag fall down beside them. She didn't even feel like cooking dinner. Those Pop-Tarts she'd stashed in her closet were sounding very appetizing.

"Welcome home," a voice said from the kitchen.

She froze in mid-step. "What are you doing here," she said tiredly.

"Coming up to check on you," Puck said, emerging into the hallway. "I see you've heard the news." His face was a mask of concern.

"How could I not?" she said, shuffling over to her comfy chair and collapsing into it. "The entire company was on pins and needles the rest of the afternoon. Good thing I hate the stock market—or don't understand it, really—otherwise I'd probably be drinking my worries away, like everyone else."

Puck looked faintly amused. "I was actually referring to Sam and Quinn's engagement."

Mercedes stared at him, her surprised gaze quickly turning into a glower. "Well aren't you just a little ray of sunshine," she said. "Thanks so much for reminding me of the unpleasant news that I had blissfully forgotten in light of the even more unpleasant news."

"My bad."

"You suck at acting, you know that?"

"I've been told once or twice." He took a seat on her couch and crossed his arms, regarding her thoughtfully. "How do you feel about this?"

"Feel about what, Dr. Freud?"

"The engagement."

"How do you think I feel about it? Oh, I'm so glad the love of my life is going to marry his ex-girlfriend!" she trilled in a falsetto.

"Thought so," he said.

"What's this all about, Puck?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Just…"

"Yes…?"

"I still love you, you know."

Mercedes looked at him, uncomprehending, as if he was a complicated calculus equation and staring at it would somehow make the problem more clear. "Say what?"

"You heard me."

"This is a funny time to confess your love, wouldn't you say?"

"I think you mean 'profess.'"

"No, I meant what I said."

"Do you still have feelings for me?"

She got to her feet. "Get out of my apartment."

"I'm asking a simple question."

"You've overstepped your boundaries."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Not you, that's for certain."

"So sit down and tell me how you feel about the situation."

"What are you playing at? Do you somehow take pleasure in my misery? Is this some kind of game you have? 'Make Mercedes Cry'?"

"No!"

She was startled at the honest outburst.

"Of course not," he said, regaining his composure. "I'm worried about you. I know you don't like to confide in people, so you just bottle your feelings up and—"

"What makes you think I'll confide in you?"

"Because," he said, rising to his feet, "believe it or not, we're still pretty comfortable around each other. And I'm the only person you can talk to at this point."

She looked away. "You are not."

"Yeah? Who else have you got?"

"I have…" She thought.

"Not Quinn," he said, ticking the names off on his fingers, "not Sam, not the old woman you used to live next to, not—"

"I get the picture. Thanks for reminding me how alone I am in this world."

"Mercedes, I'm not trying to make you more depressed." He was looking at her with those eyes of his. Those magic eyes. The magic eyes that saw everything. "But talking about it will make it better."

"It won't," she said belligerently, not letting herself meet the Magic Eyes in fear that they'd draw her in. Seduce her. Whatever. "And it's not like I have a say in the situation, anyway."

"Why not?" When she didn't answer, Puck pressed, "Shouldn't you, the one he truly loves, have the most say?"

"Don't mock me—"

"I'm not mocking you—I'm just curious."

"Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat," she said peevishly.

He moved closer to her. "I'm curious," he said again, "as to what he feels like right now. Throwing away his love to marry another."

"You have no right to judge. You, who probably don't even know what love is."

"You think I'm some robot devoid of feeling?" His face darkened. "I know what it's like to lose love—not on my own volition."

"Oh really? That girl dump you?"

"I was referring to you. And you left."

Mercedes struck out against him, hoping to knock him to the ground—only her bad aim and his quick reflexes combined sent him flying into the edge of the fireplace mantle. He winced; she didn't care.

"That's great, Puck," she said through clenched teeth. "That's just great. If this wasn't so hysterically serious, I'd be rolling on the floor laughing. I'm your true love? You lost me not of your own volition?"

"I never asked you to leave."

"Your actions told me to."

"You never bothered to inquire as to who the girl you found in bed with me was."

"I think that's a natural reaction, don't you?"

"She was my former girlfriend—the one right before I met you. Wed dated for three years before breaking up."

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?"

"Let's pretend that you and Sam were still a couple right now," he said, advancing towards her.

Mercedes flinched. You—

"What would he do if he saw us like this?" he continued.

"Probably get the wrong impression," she stressed. "Either that you have you arrested for harassment."

"It's not harassment—" he caught her face in his hands and rubbed his thumb alongside her chin, just like he used to—"if there's mutual consent."

"I'm not feeling any—"

"Yes you are," he said calmly. "I can tell."

She wanted to kill him. At that moment, she hated him more than she'd ever hated someone before—because he was right. She still had damned feelings for him. Sam had helped stifle the ache that used to plague her, but now that he was gone…

"How do you think I felt," Puck was saying, still stroking her face, "when my old girlfriend showed up at my apartment one day, apologizing for the break-up and wanting to know if there was still a chance for 'us'?"

"I'd have to say I didn't care." Her breathing was getting more shallow—and she was making no attempt to push him away. That was wrong. She should be pushing him away, she shouldn't be falling for his old tricks—

"It's not that easy to dismiss feelings for someone," he said. "I don't think you can ever really get over a person—it's not like a 'break-up' is some kind of medication that will instantly make all those irritating feelings go away."

He lowered his head; Mercedes made no move to stop him. His kiss was familiar, comforting, intoxicating…

"Do you understand now?" he asked, breathing hard as they came up for air. "How I felt? What would Sam think if he walked in right now? Would he really believe you when you told him that he's your true love—and I'm someone you're just trying to get over? I'm the one cigarette that couldn't be repelled by the nicotine patch?"

She was the one who started the kiss this time. She needed love, needed affection, just needed assurance that she wasn't undesirable or repulsive.

"I never stopped loving you, you know," Puck said. "I know you love Sam—and I know he loves you… but I also know that not everything is black and white." He paused, "No pun intended. But you two are in love—yet he's marrying Quinn. You love him, yet you still have feelings for me."

"Life sucks, doesn't it?" she said hoarsely.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "Marry me?"

She grabbed the hand playing with her hair. "Excuse me?"

"I never believe in the whole 'there's only one person for you in life' philosophy. Out of the entire 4 billion inhabitants, only one person is meant for you? What about all those happily divorced-and-remarried people? The widower who found another wife? Are these not justified loves? Is this love somehow worth less just because it happened to come second? Because the first couple just happen to meet before the other?

Mercedes, I'm not perfect. I will be tempted to cheat. But I do love you—and that's more than most couples can say."

"You're offering me the highest bid."

"It doesn't mean you'll be any less happy with the product."

They were speaking in code to protect themselves. It was like two lovers playing the roles of lovers on a movie set—the words didn't quite line up, but they still had meaning, in a roundabout way.

"I need time to think," she found herself saying.

"Okay," he said, giving her one last lingering kiss before disappearing out her door.

Mercedes sank back into her armchair and remained there for the rest of the night, lost in thought.

* * *

The next three days she went through the motions of living. It was like she'd been replaced with Mercedes the Robot—she performed all her daily tasks dutifully, but her mind was in the clouds.

She thought about her situation. She thought about other people's situations. She thought about life in general.

That girl I found Puck in bed with… I hated her guts, yet I didn't even know her. I just hated her because she took Puck away from me. I was the "other woman" to Quinn, but did it hurt her worse to realize it was her best friend that had stolen her boyfriend (sort of)?

She asked herself whether she'd rather be the Other Woman or the Wronged One. Would she rather be cheated on and be in the right, or destroy someone else's happiness by means to gain her own?

Why did happiness seem to be on par with mercantilism? There wasn't enough to go around, so if you wanted some, you'd better snatch it from someone else.

And how messed up was it that love seemed to resemble that stupid American reality TV show? Survival of the Fittest—if you want to be the Survivor, you'd better do anything and everything necessary. Including throwing away previous morals.

She didn't understand anymore.

* * *

Four days after the Big News (pick whichever shocking announcement you wish), Mercedes returned to her apartment one night to find the lights on. She faltered, unprepared to give Puck her answer yet. He always was impatient. Maybe she could sneak back out and stow away in the bar all night. She felt like getting some writing done away.

Quietly closing the door behind her, she tiptoed into her bedroom, planning to grab her yellow pad of paper and leave… only to find—not Puck—but Sam sitting contently on her bed.

Mercedes stopped short.

Why do all guys in my life have this penchant for showing up uninvited at my apartment?

Sam just looked at her for a while. "Hey."

"Hey." She willed her legs to move toward her desk, where her pad of paper was currently residing.

"How's it going?"

"Fine and dandy, thanks." She immediately regretted her words. Cut the guy some slack, Mercedes, he doesn't like this anymore than you do.

But he didn't miss a beat. "Great to hear." He shifted uncomfortably. "I've…uh… got some news for you."

"What kind of news?" she asked, picking up her pad and stuffing it into her tote bag.

"Bad news."

"Granted, Sam. The past week has been nothing but bad news. I was asking what kind of bad news. Political, philosophical, romantic?"

"I guess it could be philosophical, if you really want to think about it…" He rolled his eyes. "News that concerns us, Mercedes."

"Oh. I suppose you're not referring to the economy, then."

"No," he said seriously, not even offering her one of his usual comebacks.

She waited for him to announce the news. She was not going to help him do this.

"I'm going to marry Quinn," he finally blurted.

"I know."

They stood, looking at each other from opposite sides of the room, each trying to gauge the other's reaction.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"So am I," she replied.

More silence.

"This wasn't the way I imagined it," he said.

"Yeah, well, this is the way it's happening."

He stood and opened his arms, offering her one last embrace. Mercedes hesitated a moment too long—she moved forward just as his arms fell against his side. Then she just stood in mid-step, wavering, as if regaining her balance.

Sam walked to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I won't ask you to come to the wedding."

"I wouldn't have come anyway."

"I know."

Mercedes bit her lip. Damn you. Don't you know you're ripping my heart apart? That it's taking all my willpower not to beat you senseless? (Not that you had any sense to begin with.)

He heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. "I—" Still staring into her eyes, he choked off his words and left.

Just like that.

She flung her tote bag across the room, not even getting satisfaction from the loud crash it made as it struck her dresser and knocked off her tidy row of books. Abandoning all plans of going to the bar, she flopped on her bed and buried her face in a pillow, silently calling Sam every kind of curse word she knew.

* * *

Sam stared out the window of his bedroom for what seemed like an infinite amount of time after arriving back from Mercedes'. He missed her more than ever—missed the walks, the stargazing, the adventures they had on his roof, the laughter, the conversations…

Quinn came up behind him. "It's pretty outside tonight, isn't it?" she said, slipping an arm around his waist.

He wasn't quite sure how he answered, but she didn't repeat her question so he decided his response must have been acceptable.

"Would you like to take a walk?" she suggested.

"No!"

Quinn jumped.

"No, thank you," he hastily amended. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired tonight. Really drained. Hard day at work."

"I understand." Her eyes weighed him knowingly, telling him that she understood much, much more. Quinn wasn't stupid—she was one of the smartest people he knew. "It's okay," she soothed, laying her head on his shoulder, offering him her support.

She deserves better than me, he thought desperately. She's making a mistake.

But he owed it to her to make her happy.

And if this is what made her happy—

(I just wanted that last embrace. One last embrace. Why did she hesitate? I'm going to think about it all night now.)

He would set aside his own happiness for Quinn. He could be happy with her. He had been, once. Why couldn't he be happy with her again? She was sweet, intelligent, desirable—

Sam felt as if he were banging the gavel of his own death sentence.

* * *

Mercedes picked up her phone and dialed the numbers of Puck's cell… but hesitated before pushing the call button. She reached her thumb towards it—then pulled back. Reached again—and lost her courage.

This continued for half an hour before she realized she'd already made her decision, and delaying it further was pointless. She would like to sleep tonight.

Puck picked up after the first ring. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, feeling a wave of déjà vu. "What's up?"

"Not a lot. You're calling with my answer, right?"

"Yes."

He waited for a minute, then realized, "Oh, that was my answer?"

"Yeah," she said, unable to stop the small smile that was spreading across her face. He sounded so happy. And she really had missed him—

Puck burst out laughing. "I'll be there in a few."

"All right."

She hung up the phone, feeling elated and dismayed all at once.

What did I just do?

What's done is done.

Mercedes fleetingly wondered what Sam would think, but pushed the notion away with the familiar mantra: Don't think about it. Happiness was relative, anyway. If one convinced oneself that they were happy, it would be so.

It was a kind of anesthesia, and she did nothing to stop the flow.

Her doorbell rang, and she got up to answer it, pushing any further doubts out of her mind.

* * *

Soooo umm that's that =p review! O: Chapter 6 will be up soon, maybe sometime this weekend. =p


	6. What Goes Around

**AN**: The reviews for previous chapter were really thought provoking you guys had really good points regarding Sams choice to marry Quinn under these circumstances. To quote one reviewer he is, as they all are "emotionally retarded." It gets better! =p

* * *

Chapter 6: What Goes Around

xox

Mercedes turned the locks on her door and threw it open.

Her heart fell to her stomach. "Sam?" she shrieked.

"I had to see you again," he said, launching himself into her arms.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought I just explained that. Please, just once more—"

"No. No. No, no, no. You're engaged to be married and so am I."

A look of shock past over Sam's face before he regained control. "Already?"

She felt a stab of guilt at his wounded tone. "Yeah."

"Didn't take you long to forget about me, did it?"

"Didn't take you long to forget about me, hm?" she returned coolly.

"Who is he?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"You're on the rebound."

"At least I love him." She really needed sleep… she was blurting out the first things that came to mind.

He seized her arms and pulled her close, his face stormy. "I thought you loved me."

"Do I even need to repeat your words back to you?"

"Is that was this is? Payback? Some kind of scheme to avenge yourself?"

"No."

Her straightforward answer seemed to throw him off guard. "Then what is it? Who is he? How could you possibly find someone else to love so quickly?"

"I don't think I ever stopped loving him," she said quietly. "Love never really ends, does it? It fades and grows stronger, depending on the time or the person… but it never disappears altogether. Not really."

"Puck," he said flatly.

She looked away.

"That's just great," he said, more angry now. "So now he wants to marry you? What, has he vowed to give up cheating? How long's that going to last: for Lent?"

"This isn't a joke, Sam. He promised to try." Even to her own ears the words sounded futile—she was grasping at straws.

"To try. Right." His grip on her arms tightened. "What is this, some sort of masochistic trip? You lost and now you're punishing yourself for it?"

"Lost?" She shook off his grip. "Is that what you think this is? A contest of sorts? Quinn won and I lost? Maybe I'm really the winner, because I'm free from you now. At least Puck's going to try to make me happy—you really couldn't care less what happens to me."

"You know that's not true."

"Do I?"

"I'm doing this for Quinn. For—not for myself. Not for you. For justice."

"Justice, huh. It's just that I get left behind because Quinn was lucky enough to get pregnant?"

"Stop it."

"Stop what? Saying the truth? You need to hear it from someone, because you're obviously not able to see it yourself!"

"You're twisting the truth," he said. "Stop wallowing in pity and trying to pin the blame on me."

"I'm not trying to pin anything on you!" she shouted. "I'm trying to get you off my back for attempting to be happy. Is that such a bad thing? Or do you imagine no one can be happy without you?" She paused to catch her breath. "Or maybe that's not it at all. Maybe you feel that if you can't be happy, no one can. Is that it? Huh? Huh?"

Sam looked at her worriedly. "Mercedes. You're hysterical."

"I'm not!"

He gathered her into her arms. "It's okay to cry."

"Who said anything about crying?" She beat her fists against his chest.

"It's okay to be mad."

"Stop psychologizing and leave me alone."

"That's not a word."

"And you're not Sigmund Freud. Just let me go!" She shoved away from him, hard. He wobbled for a moment before regaining his balance.

Once again they were standing mere feet apart, staring at each other as if in a western show-down.

"I'm not hyperventilating," she said.

"And I'm not… psychologizing."

Silence. Mercedes was staring at his eyes—They're such nice eyes… gentle, and comforting—and he was staring at her face without really seeing it—She's getting married. How can she get married? How can I get married?

"How can it end like this?" he asked aloud.

She smiled sadly. "It doesn't have to."

They looked at each other, each not daring to speak the words they were both thinking.

And then—without even discussing it—they both knew what the other wanted, really, they came together, holding each other, sinking onto the floor in a fit of passion, with the knowledge that this was most likely the last time they would ever commit such an act.

* * *

Quinn's eyes once again strayed to the hands of the clock on the bedside. She forced herself too focus on the book she was reading… but after she reached the next chapter and realized she had no idea what was going on, she figured it was time to cash it in.

10 p.m. Sam said he'd be back by nine. She'd been hoping to talk to him for a while before going to sleep. Long conversations like they used to have, back when Sam actually made time for her. Back when he still loved her.

How had it turned out like this? Was it too much to ask for someone to love her in return? Sam had only been her third boyfriend… her first, Finn, had broken off the relationship when they went to different colleges. Mike, who she dated for most of college, broke up with her after he realized he was in love with Tina. Then came Sam… who spent most of their relationship pining after Santana. And now, as she recently discovered, probably after Mercedes as well.

_Is there something wrong with me?_

10:03 pm.

He was at Mercedes'. She just knew it.

Stop it. He could be at a bar. Or working late. Or… in a bookstore?

She threw the book across the room. _Damn it._

Swiping at her tears, she curled up in a ball and pulled the covers tightly around her, not even bothering to turn off the light.

* * *

The "morning after" was far from a peaceful bliss. When she awoke in Sam's arms, Mercedes couldn't feel anything besides guilt. Irrational, yes, she knew—he loves me! Me me me not Quinn—but perhaps it was natural to feel sick over deceiving her friend. Former friend. Whatever.

_I'm a terrible person._ She pulled a pillow over her head.

Sam kissed the back of her neck. "What's the matter?" he asked. The question was casual enough, but the words sounded strained.

"You know what's the matter."

"Mercedes, you know I hate it when you do that."

"What, not give you a straight answer? Because you know the answer already?"

"You're feeling guilty, aren't you."

"Ya think?"

He sighed and pulled her closer. "Sometimes a conscience is a bad thing."

"I wonder if you even have one."

"That hurt." He sounded as if it had. Mercedes immediately felt bad. "I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't. Have one, that is," he said.

"I guess not." She let out a breath of air.

He rested his head on top of hers. "Why…" he said softly, the word more a sigh than an actual uttering.

Mercedes felt around for his hand and clasped it tightly within hers. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, wishing the cursed daylight would go away.

* * *

Another hour passed before Mercedes found the will to pull herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Sam was still sleeping—or at least appeared to be. She smiled briefly and turned on the shower, absently braiding her hair as she waited for the water to warm up.

The bathroom door banged open and she jumped. "You scared me," she said, hand upon her heart.

Sam eyed her blearily. "Jumpy this morning." He then seemed to register the fact that the shower was running and that she was still naked. "Can I come in with you?"

Mercedes flushed and shrugged, although her smile grew a bit. "Sure, why not?"

He kicked off his boxers and hopped into the shower.

"Hey, no fair—you're bigger than I am, you'll take up all the water!"

"That's what you get for being slow," he taunted, sticking his head around the shower curtain.

"Okay, now you're going to get it."

"False threats, my dear Mercedes, aren't very effective."

"I'm coming in there—"

After a shampoo and conditioner fight and a brief (okay, maybe not so brief) make-out session, Mercedes said, "My water bill's going to be sky-high."

"I'll help you pay for it."

"Yeah, sure you will." She kissed his cheek and turned off the water. "Out. And don't drip water all over the floor."

"Yes ma'am." He threw back the curtain and stepped out of the tub, promptly creating a giant puddle on the bathroom floor.

Mercedes sighed and reached for the towel on the rack.

It was Sam who entered the kitchen first, decked out in Mercedes' bathrobe. Mercedes, in an oversized tee-shirt, promptly crashed into his back as he stopped in the middle of the doorway.

"You clown, what are you doing?" she said playfully.

She heard Sam gulp. "Uh, hi, Quinn…" she heard him say.

Mercedes closed her eyes. You've got to be kidding me.

"What are you doing here?" he continued, sounding very guilty.

"I knew you'd be here of course," Quinn said. "And I wanted to talk to you so… I came."

Mercedes stayed hidden behind Sam's back, not sure she could handle facing Quinn.

"Mercedes, it's okay, you can come out. I'm not going to throw anything at you. Yet."

Mercedes winced and stepped around Sam. "Quinn, I'm—"

"Save it. Please." The petite girl had bags under her eyes, and she hugged herself, the baggy jeans and large sweatshirt giving her a fragile appearance. "I want both of you to hear what I'm going to say."

Mercedes bit her lip and averted her eyes. Was it possible to die of guilt?

"Last night, I cried myself to sleep," started Quinn.

Oh great, go for the pity trip—Mercedes thought.

"And then I realized I brought this upon myself," continued Quinn. "I'm only torturing myself like this, going on pretending that Sam still loves me… if you ever did, that is," she said, meeting his eyes.

Sam started, "Quinn—"

"Hush. We all know it's the truth. Don't we, Mercedes?"

"Erm…" She didn't take her eyes off the floor.

"Somewhere around 3 o'clock this morning, I decided to take control of my life. So I'm leaving. Now. To go anywhere. I already filed for a leave of absence—the company's calling it sabbatical, I think they're hoping I'll write a novel or something while I'm away—but I don't think I'll be coming back any time soon."

"Quinn—" Sam started towards her.

"No." She jumped backwards. "No, please, don't touch me. Don't worry, I'll have our baby—I wouldn't let her go for anything. I'll bring her to visit you once in a while, just to satisfy her curiosity. I don't want her to have to search for you and then be disappointed."

"There's no need for insults," said Mercedes.

"She? Her?" Sam said at the same time.

"It's a girl, I'm sure of it," Quinn said. "And Mercedes, kindly shut up. I love you dearly, you know that—well, yeah, I'm freaking pissed off at you right now, but I'll get over it. I promise. You know me, I don't hold grudges that long."

You really think you'll be able to get over this? Mercedes thought incredulously.

"So yeah, just wanted to say that… um… I'll be leaving now, I guess." Quinn started for the door.

Sam sprang after her. "Quinn wait—"

"Sam, don't."

"What about our engagement? The wedding?"

Quinn spun around. Had her eyes been lasers… "You really think I'd marry you after all this?"

"Quinn, it was just—heat of the moment—"

Mercedes choked.

Sam winced, aware of his mistake "I mean—"

"Sam," said Mercedes. "You need to make up your mind. Right now. You can't have both of us. Actually, at the rate things are going, you won't have either of us." She looked at Quinn. "Looks as if Santana was the only smart one."

Quinn just stared back at her, obviously not in the mood for sharing a joke.

Mercedes bit her tongue and turned around. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me when you make your decision, Sam."

She stalked back into the bedroom, seething. Slamming the door behind her provided little relief. She crawled back under the covers of her bed and sighed heavily, vaguely disturbed at her lack of tears. She couldn't even muster the energy to cry.

He won't come back.

"Ugh." She squeezed her eyes shut.

Four hours later, when she awoke again, the sun had shifted and the shadows within her room were at different angles. She had the strangest feeling of déjà vu—only there was no Sam in the bed this time.

Barely allowing herself to hope—she almost knew what she'd find before she got there—she climbed out of bed and walked into the kitchen.

An empty kitchen.

She checked the table, the counters, the refrigerator, anywhere for a note of some kind. She checked her answering machine—the light wasn't flashing. She checked her cell phone, but there were no missed calls or new messages.

She sank down into a chair at the table and dropped her head into the palm of her hand.

It looked as if he was really gone this time. And if Quinn had her way, he wasn't coming back. Ever.

Mercedes pressed her lips together and blinked her eyes rapidly. Figured that the tears would come now.

Sam had made his choice. Just as she'd feared. But then, she'd known from the beginning that she'd be the loser, hadn't she? Somewhere, deep down inside her, she'd known it wouldn't last. Couldn't last.

I just wanted to be happy… She'd just wanted everyone to be happy.

And now no one was happy. Not really.

Was it even worth it all?

She honestly had no answer to that.

The afternoon shadows that streamed through the kitchen window shifted again as she sat in that chair at the table, motionless, thinking about the past few months and all the events that marked the passing of days, and how weak her justification was.

Did the end justify the means?

Was this the end?

There was one shadow that fell across the floor that looked suspiciously human-like, but in her thoughts, Mercedes didn't even notice.

* * *

**AN**:Don't hit me! lol I find that I end most of these chapters with someone walking in. Or just showing up when Mercedes is alone. Yay for consistency. D: Review time! (:


	7. Comes Around

**AN**:I got nothin'. Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter 7: Comes Around._

_xox_

She hadn't noticed the shadow, but the approaching footsteps were harder to miss. She jerked out of her stupor and swiveled her head towards the doorway. _Sam_!

Her heart plummeted when she saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Oh… Puck…" she said dully.

"There's a welcome for your fiancé," he said, striding towards her. He pulled her out of the chair and into his arms, covering her face in kisses, and then kissing her urgently, roughly.

She pulled away. "What's the matter with you?"

"Can't I kiss my future wife?" He leaned in again, but she put a hand against his chest.

She took a stab in the dark. "You ran into Sam, didn't you?"

The look on his face told the truth.

"On the staircase, right?" she pressed.

"What was he doing here?" he asked, abandoning all pretenses.

"I don't… even know," she said, turning away. "Forget about it."

"Mercedes—" he reached for her.

"No. Puck…" She pulled away and backed up, leaving a good three feet in between them. She needed a barrier, some form of protection from the reaction her words were going to induce.

His face hardened. "What happened between you two?"

"Nothing!"

"Why was he here?"

"He has just as much right to be here as you do."

"You slept with him, didn't you?"

"Honestly Puck, I don't know where this indignant lover role is coming from. Yes, I slept with him. I am in love with him."

"And he left you," Puck said.

"He left because Quinn showed up here and started yelling and said she didn't want to marry Sam anymore. And then he left too. And now you're yelling at me. Thank you for putting the cherry on my marvelous day."

Puck let out a breath. "So what does this mean? You don't want to marry me anymore?"

"This means I am really confused right now and this is probably not the best time to interrogate me." She stalked away from him and into the kitchen. She needed to clean something.

Puck wasn't going to give up. "You accepted my proposal and then promptly slept with another guy," he said, following her into the kitchen.

"That wasn't exactly what happened—"

"But it's a pretty concise description."

"Okay, Puck, you know what? This is pretty nice coming from the guy who cheated on me."

"What goes around comes around, is that it?"

"Why did you propose to me, anyway?" she threw back. "Why are you so interested again all of a sudden? Jealous of Sam? If you couldn't have me, no one else could? You're not the marrying type, Puck. You're more of a bounce from girl to girl type."

"Don't try and label me. Or my feelings. I do love you, Mercedes. I really do want to marry you."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Puck. Can you see us grocery shopping together? You carrying a diaper bag over your shoulder? Do you even want kids? I do. I want two or three. And we haven't discussed religion. Or politics. For all I know, you could be a communist."

"Cannibalist, actually."

"This is really not a good time to joke around."

"How can you say we don't know anything about each other after how long we dated?"

"Did we actually learn anything about each other in that time? Besides that you can make me orgasm six times in a row and that I can make you come in less than three minutes when I gave you head?" she spat.

She knew she was being harsh and petty. She didn't care.

Apparently Puck didn't either. "How about that I know you are a passionate, intelligent, and caring woman that I want to share the rest of my life with. We lived together, Mercedes. And we were pretty compatible too, despite the fact that I always left my things lying around for you to trip over and your cooking would give me indigestion. Does that mean anything to you?"

She turned away to stare out the window.

Does that mean anything to you?

_Not the way Sam did_. She couldn't sit on the couch and just talk to Puck for hours.

But she could with Sam.

She knew everything about Sam, from his favorite TV show to what he would be if he were reincarnated. She could even recite every birthmark on his body.

She had been _infatuated_ with Puck.

But she was in _love_ with Sam.

"I can't marry you, Puck."

"He won't come back. This is the second time he's left, you know."

She didn't have to ask who "he" was. "If he doesn't come back, that still wouldn't be fair to you. You'd have my body, but you wouldn't have my heart."

Mercedes was prepared for Puck to be angry. She was prepared for him to throw his usual insults, slam the door, and not speak to her for a few months.

She wasn't prepared for the calm sadness that fell over him. "So that's it then. You've fallen out of love with me."

"You broke my heart, Puck."

This sounds more and more like a soap opera. How typical of my life.

"Can't I try and mend it?"

"It's already been mended."

"By Sam," he said disbelievingly.

She nodded, her throat suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight.

Puck gave an infinitesimal smile. "Who would've guessed?"

"Not me. That's for sure."

Puck absently cracked his fingers one by one. An old habit of his, one that used to drive Mercedes crazy. It made her a little sad to think that she would never yell at him for that again.

Am I really doing the right thing? What if Sam doesn't come back? I could be alone for the rest of my life. Puck loves me, and I once loved him. I could be happy with him. He'd make a good dad. And if I threatened to divorce him if he ever cheated on me, he would probably stop.

As if he could read her thoughts, Puck said, "So what'll it be, Mercedes? Yes or no?"

Mercedes wet her lips nervously.

Yes or no? her mind chanted tauntingly. Yes or no? Yes-or-no-yes-or-no YES-NO-YES-NO?

"I don't…" she whispered.

"What?"

"I can't…" Her words were barely a breath of air.

Just say yes. Sam's not going to come back. Just say yes and get over him.

"I can't," she heard herself saying. "I'm sorry."

Puck stilled. He obviously was expecting another answer. "Fine," he said, his hazel eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. Angry, disappointed, hurt, betrayed. "Your loss."

He stalked out of her apartment without even closing the door. She waiting until his footsteps had faded completely before collapsing onto the floor.

So that's it, then.

She didn't stay on the floor for as long as she would have expected. Maybe she was getting used to this whole heartbreak deal.

She got up and went to shut the door. With its usual squeak, it fell into place and blew a small white piece of paper at her bare feet.

What is this?

It was small, and looked as if it had been torn off of something bigger—a receipt, maybe, or a shopping list.

Stooping down to pick it up, the messy all-caps handwriting instantly registered and sent the neurons in her brain firing so fast she was sure there would be a tiny explosion up there.

_The bastard left me a note_. "Sam…"

_- Wait for me._

* * *

**AN**: Short chapter! O: I added a poll on my profile ( I don't even know if I did it right..) but yeah vote vote. o: On to the next chapter. Review time!


	8. One Year

_Chapter 8: One Year._

_xox_

That was all it said. "Wait for me," she repeated. "Wait for me. Well that's not ambiguous at all. Wait for you for how long? And where?"

When had he left the note? She doubted that he'd stopped to write it while running after Quinn.

Which meant he'd come back to leave it. Probably when she was fighting with Puck.

How much had he heard? And why hadn't he come in to at least explain to her what was going on?

_Wait for me._

You didn't tell someone to wait if you didn't want to be with them again. If that was the case, then you just left without a word. So did this mean he still loved her and wanted to be with her again? Someday? Eventually?

She stared at the note for a long time and then walked over to her purse and carefully tucked it into the inside pocket. Then she walked over to the phone. She had some calls to make.

Mercedes sat primly on a bench in the central train station. Her two suitcases sat at her feet—pink, so they could never be mistaken for someone else's—and her purse and shoulder bag were cuddled in her lap. In her shoulder bag was her leave of absence from work, her current manuscript.

It was time to take a vacation.

Things had actually gone very smoothly. She called her boss last night and explained her situation—this novel was taking longer to write than expected, and if she wanted to meet her deadlines, she would have to put some serious time into it. Yes, she had plenty of money in the bank—more than enough. She could live comfortably for a year and still have plenty left over. Yes, she would return, just think of this as a sabbatical.

Relieved, her boss assured her that her old position would be hers again when she decided to return. "In all, this is very good," he said in his usual frazzled manner. "With this sudden economic decline, I was going to have to make some layoffs. But with you going on your sabbatical and Quinn on maternity leave, I think we all can make it."

Mercedes told him how delighted she was and said she wanted to leave the next day.

This statement had not been well met.

In the end, they had agreed on three days. Thus, she was leaving on the 5:00pm.

A girl at the office—ironically enough, a close friend of Quinn's—had just broken up with her boyfriend and needed a place to stay indefinitely. News travels fast in a tight-knit corporation, so the minute Mercedes heard the news, she called her up. "Oh my god, that would be so perfect," she gushed, her voice still heavy with old tears, "I just really need to get out of here. My folks live up north, and all of my friends either have roommates or boyfriends or husbands and—and—" she made a conscious effort to get a hold of herself. "I would love to take your sublease. Thank you so much."

She'd finished moving in last night.

Mercedes pushed a flyaway piece of hand back behind her ear. Everything was falling into place. She'd actually told a white lie to her boss—she'd sent off her last installment to her publisher that morning. After finding the white note Sam had left, she pulled two all-nighters and finished the book. With a few revisions, it would be published in less than two months.

The manuscript in her bag was a drastic deviation from her usual genre. She decided that she was done with her romantic novels. It was time for some serious writing. Maybe action/suspense. Maybe philosophical. Who knew? She would write what she felt like.

A disgruntled teenager was being dragged along by his ostentatiously-dressed parents. He gave her a leering once-over and Mercedes didn't hesitate to flick him off. The boy's face registered shock, but she only smiled benignly.

So what? She was off guys for the time being. Just her and her manuscript. Her and her nice, gentlemanly characters. Or at least guys that started out tough and then melted into butter when he saw what a good find he had. Why couldn't all men see like that?

Mercedes decided once she found the perfect character from her book, she would marry him. And have babies and raise them. Only this made her think of Quinn and her baby (and Sam with them?), so she quickly grabbed a book out of her bag and started reading furiously.

"Mama, is that lady a bum?"

Mercedes furtively looked at the child sitting on the bench across from her out of the corner of her eye. Yep, sure enough, the child's finger was pointing at her. The mother quickly hushed the child and whispered into his ear; most likely that it was impolite to point and call people "bums."

She couldn't wait to get out of the New York business sector. She was seriously only dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. With a sweatshirt in her lap.

The train pulled into the station only minutes later, and by stepping through the doors onto the crowded rush-hour packed Friday train, Mercedes felt as if she was leaving everything behind.

* * *

"Hello! I'd like a—"

"Double chocolate fudge sundae cone?" The boy behind the counter with the word "elephant" tattooed on his forehead smiled. "Coming right up."

Mercedes smiled unabashedly. It was her Friday night tradition to emerge from the charming little house she'd rented and spend the evening wandering through the main streets of the small town. It was a pleasant tradition she'd started—even if it did include her new obsession with dessert.

As she strolled down the stone streets licking her ice-cream cone, she watched the many tourists amble by. No one was in a hurry, and most people were laughing and talking. The old couples, arm in arm, exchanged few words: after so many years of marriage, they already knew each other's thoughts. The young couples chattered animatedly, eager to get to know each other better. The middle aged couples smiled in exasperation at their excited children and warned them not to wander to far.

_Couples._ She was surrounded by happy people.

Not that she wasn't happy. She'd made enormous progress on her book in the past eleven months and she'd made a few friends that were living in the city long-term too.

But she was lonely.

She didn't think about Sam as much. The first month was hell. The second was just as worse. By the time the fourth rolled around, she'd become accustomed to her new life.

Now it had almost been a year since she'd seen or heard from him.

Silence had never been so cruel before.

Mercedes laughed softly at herself as she once again thought of her books. In her third novel, the protagonist had returned to his love after exactly a year of disappearance. Somehow her beloved character had set the standard in her mind—over the past months she had turned down the numerous dates and offers she'd received. She was waiting for the end of the year. If Sam didn't show up by the end of the year, she would forever put him out of her mind.

There was the minor drawback that he might not know where she was. But if he really wanted to find her, he could. She'd left hints.

Well sort of. She'd told Kurt. She told the girl she subleased her apartment to. That brightened her a bit. Of course! Sam would naturally show up at her apartment and pound on the door without calling ahead first. Then the cute little Sugar would tell him dolefully that Mercedes was taking a vacation and she was very sorry to disappoint him but if he wanted to stay for dinner he could—

_No! Bad thoughts, Mercedes! Very bad thoughts!_

Sugar wouldn't seduce Sam, even though she had just broken up with her boyfriend. Two lonely souls…

Whatever, Mercedes. You're pulling this completely out of air. All this loneliness is getting to your head.

Ridiculous fantasies were the first sign of You-Really-Need-a-New-Boyfriend-itis.

She finished her cone and tossed it in a trash can that was attached to a light post. The sun was setting and the sky had put on its finest evening wear—it was ablaze with color.

Mercedes smiled sadly and started her walk home.

She really did miss him.

_Passion, like summer, eventually fades and gives way to the cool, comfortable feelings of Autumn. The best way to tame a fire is to let it slowly sizzle out._

_Keira sighed and let her hand fall to her side. If he had really loved her, his feelings wouldn't have gone out so quickly died out with so little hesitation. He'd failed the test. And she'd been so sure of him to. But perhaps that was fate's way of telling her they weren't meant for each other. Maybe like the fire something would rise out of the embers their love wasn't worth it their love was only a brief period of high flames and then.._

Screw this.

Mercedes gave up writing for the night. Sometimes there was just no hope.

She stretched and moved her writing pad and pen aside. From her place on the sofa, she could see yet another extraordinary sunset morphing into the inky darkness of the rural sky out of the big bay window the owners of the house had put into the living room.

Tomorrow would be exactly one year that she'd been here. Starting at midnight, Sam would have twenty-four hours to show up and profess his love before she would forget about him forever.

What if he turns up on one year and a day? What will you do then? That's close enough, right?

No. He said "wait." It was up to her to choose the specifications. And besides, a year was plenty of time to work out any doubts or insecurities he had.

_Enough._ She wouldn't think about it until tomorrow night. She was not going to spend a perfectly good writing day wasted on thinking about that loser.

Mercedes stood. She might as well check on her small, solitary dinner. Spaghetti was so lonely. Noodles were just meant to be slurped with someone else there.

Actually, it was a wonder her food wasn't burning already. She'd lost track of time again.

Oh well, she could always just order sushi to go. Take-out and delivery were her new lovers.

She walked into the kitchen and promptly crashed into the refrigerator.

There at her stove, calmly stirring a large pot of spaghetti, was Sam.

Mercedes knew her jaw was hanging open. She knew her eyes were bugging out very unattractively. But she had absolutely no ability to fix any of these things.

"Hey."

* * *

**AN**: Tell me what you think! o:


	9. Finally

**AN**_: I just want to start this off by saying I HATE the changes they have done to this site. I mean, Why is everything centered? Was it really necessary to change the margins? I really hate when sites change things that don't need changing. If it ain't broke dont fix it. ): -rant over- enjoy! :3_

* * *

_Chapter 9: Finally._

_xox_

"Hey."

He greeted her, smiling that crooked grin of his. "Spaghetti for one? Isn't that a little depressing?"

Mercedes still didn't have the means to form words. She did manage, though, to extract herself from the refrigerator, her eyes never leaving his face though.

He looked good. Same blonde hair that fell into his face. Same piercing Green eyes. Same cocky smile.

She swayed on the spot, drinking him in.

"Clumsy as ever," he said, chuckling. "Here, let me help." He strode over to her and roughly pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly against him that she could barely breathe. "I missed you."

Mercedes closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. This wasn't really happening. She had progressed to full-on hallucinations. Why was he here, seducing her, when he could be at her apartment, seducing Sugar?

But oh god, it felt so good to be back in his arms. She savored the sensation, basking in the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around her. Was it possible to just stay in his arms for the rest of her life?

"Mercedes?" He released her slightly so that he could look at her face. "Why so silent? I'm not late, am I? Tomorrow is one year."

If she had felt astonished before, now she felt as if she'd just been hit with a sledgehammer. "What did you say?" she gasped.

"Tyler. He came back to Keira after exactly a year. Isn't that what you were waiting for? Or do I not know you at all?"

"You read my book?"

"I read all of them. Took me a while, but then, it has been a year. That was part of my soul-searching phase."

Mercedes couldn't hold herself back any longer. She threw her arms around his neck and began kissing him like there was no tomorrow. A moment later, she happily noticed that he was responding equally as ardently.

"What took you so long?" she gasped, finally wrenching her swollen lips away from his. "You didn't have to wait a year. I've been so lonely and I missed you so much and… and… you bastard! What was that 'Wait for me' note about? You are in such big trouble."

"But you still love me?" he asked hopefully.

Mercedes considered very hard saying no, just to let him see what it was like, but she didn't want him to ever let her go. "Yes, Sam. I still love you very much. But you have a lot of explaining to do."

"Later," he said thickly, kissing her long and hard again. "I haven't made love to you in almost a year; I've almost forgotten what it feels like."

"We can't have that, now, can we," she murmured, unaware of anything else but the kisses Sam was planting all over her face, neck, arms, breasts…

"I love you, Mercedes."

"I love you too, Sam."

* * *

It wasn't until after they had finished making love and she was happily lying in his arms (still on the kitchen floor) that it hit her. She sat upright so fast it made her head spin. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything," Sam said lazily, tracing circles on her back with his finger. His eyes hadn't strayed from her face in over an hour.

"No, I mean, what did you say before we started—"

"Oh. You mean 'I love you'?"

A smile started spreading across her face. "I think you forgot a part."

"Did I? How careless." He smirked in his usual way and she could have loved him again all over for it. "I meant to say, 'I love you, Mercedes.'"

"That," she said, leaning over to kiss his neck, "is much better." She settled back down on the floor, her head resting on his chest. "Seriously, though, I thought you'd never say those words."

"I always wanted to. Just never could."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

She closed her eyes. "Again?"

"I love you. I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you." He pulled her back down on top of him, his arms tightly encircling her.

Mercedes was quite content to just lay there the rest of the night. But she still had unanswered questions. And she didn't like mysteries very much. She was always the girl who had skipped ahead to the end of the Nancy Drew books before she even started at the beginning.

"Sam?"

"Mmph."

"Why'd it take you so long to get here?"

He sighed, his chest expanding so that Mercedes' body moved upward several inches. "I knew I would have to answer that eventually."

"Am I going to like the answer?" asked Mercedes neutrally.

Maybe she should've asked what had happened before

"I don't know. I guess that depends on you." His fingers started tracing circles on her back again. "The first week I went to work and lived my normal life; only every second of my spare time was occupied by trying to figure out what I should do. I asked myself whether I loved you or Quinn; then I asked myself what I was going to do about me and Quinn's baby. I didn't want her to grow up without a father. No child should go through that, and I wasn't going to be guilty of it."

Mercedes forced herself to stay quiet.

"But Quinn solved all that for me," he said. "By choosing Finn instead."

"Finn?"

"That guy from your company, ne?"

"But she hated him!"

"She didn't hate him; she just acted that way when she was dating me because he wasn't taking a hint otherwise. She actually thought he was very sweet."

"And she told you this."

"Yes," he said, missing the sarcasm. "At their wedding."

"They got married?"

This was getting better and better.

"Yep. Just after she had Beth. She looked nothing like me and a lot like Finn; So she came clean about cheating on me with Finn. He'll be a good father, he's one of those mushy-gushy types. I was just happy to get out of that situation.. "

Mercedes laid there taking everything that Sam said in. She wanted to say something when she said that Quinn cheated on him with a guy from his work but decided to keep her mouth shut she was just glad that Sam was here with her and at this moment everything was falling into place.

"Beth. That's a pretty common name."

"She liked it. She said she wanted her daughter to have a normal life, so a normal name would fit."

Mercedes sat up indignantly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Who knows. It's Quinn." He pulled her back down on top of him. "Any more questions?"

"You've explained maybe two days out of a year. Please don't tell me that you made me wait a whole 365 days just because one of the characters in my book did it."

"No, I didn't. I wanted you to have some time to think, too. I know I needed the time. After the fourth month of mind-wracking and guilty dreams I just decided… to stop thinking."

He was quiet for so long after this that Mercedes prompted, "And?"

"And… I asked myself what I really wanted. And what I really wanted was you."

She stared at him incredulously. "That's it?"

He smirked at her. "Occum's Razor. Sometimes the simplest explanations are the best."

"Not that I'm not happy, but you had to take the rest of the year to get to me?"

"I had to put my affairs in order. Put in a transfer for my job, sell my apartment, finish reading all thirteen of your books—that took a helluva a long time, why do you write such long books?—and then explain this whole story to Quinn, Santana, my brother, and the bartender at that bar we always used to go to."

"Why did you have to tell Artie?"

"He was curious. He said he'd been watching our drama unfold for so long that he couldn't possibly stand to not know how it turned out."

Mercedes was indignant. "As if we're some soap opera meant only to entertain!"

"I think it's pretty damned funny."

She gave him a wry glance. "You would."

He took her hand and playfully nibbled on her fingers. "Right. When I arrived here about a month ago—by the same train you took, incidentally—I couldn't just come see you… I had to watch you first, to slowly get you back into my life, to make sure I still understood you."

"What! You've been here a month?"

"Just following you around," he repeated. "It's a nice lifestyle you have. Wake up, eat breakfast, write for a few hours, eat lunch, take a walk around the area, return home, write again, read while you eat dinner, watch a movie, then go to sleep. Oh, and on Friday nights you walk around town while eating that ridiculously sugar-loaded concoction."

"Stalker."

"Only for you, my dear."

They fell silent again for a moment or two. Then Mercedes said: "What now?"

"Well we should probably get some sleep soon but I'm definitely up for some more s—"

"No! I mean… where do we go from here? In terms of us."

He shrugged. "I'll be here; I got a transfer. I'm not leaving anytime soon. In fact, I don't plan on leaving ever. You've noticed how we kind of complete each other?"

"Something like that." She smiled.

"Any more questions?"

"Does Quinn hate me?"

Sam winced. "Not a good question to ask."

"That's all right. I didn't expect much more."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Mercedes, She did." he said sternly. "So don't go thinking that you deserve her anger."

"I know. Still. That's one friendship lost."

He looked at her carefully. "Do you regret anything?"

She thought about it for a moment or two, then shook her head. "No. I don't. I wouldn't change anything. It sucks that it has to be you or Quinn; but I would definitely choose you any day."

"Thanks, babe."

"It's the truth." She tilted her head to the side and smiled. "But thinking about things from your perspective, you've basically given up everything for me."

He tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Damn straight. You better appreciate this, woman."

Mercedes started laughing so hard that she physically couldn't stop. And to tell the god-honest-truth, she didn't want to.

It was the quiet creaking of the old house that woke Sam up. He had been born with ultra-sensitive hearing; a curse that had plagued him throughout his college years (he had been one of the unfortunate few saddled with a snoring roommate). But, he consented, pulling Mercedes closer to him, there were consolations: such as being able to watch Mercedes sleeping serenely, her lips curled up into a small smile.

He wrapped his arm around her stomach, playing with the thin fabric of her tee-shirt. Maybe someday, he thought, letting his hand rest on her stomach, this body would produce their children.

Hopefully sooner than later, he amended, thinking of the ring that was sitting in the glove compartment of his car.

It wasn't more than a few minutes that he was able to stay awake his eyes began to close on their own volition, but for once he didn't mind falling asleep: because he knew that the next time he awoke, his Mercedes would be laying there right beside him.

As he drifted off into the dream world, a smile to match his love's began to spread across his face.

THE END.

* * *

**AN**: Well that's the end of that. I just wanted to say you guys are amazing reviewers. The reviews I got for the chapters made me smile and laugh and motivated me to crank out the next chapter faster. I hope you guys liked how this story ended. I am working on another one that will be posted up as soon as possible so keep an eye out. =p


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